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THE CONFESSIONS OF 
JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 





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THE 
CONFESSIONS 
OF JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 
+ + + 
Translated from the French. 


With a preface by 
EDMUND WILSON 


VOLUME II 





ALFRED - A: KNOPF 
New York : 1923 


LORS ESS TOR ÉOOS On OMS ÉOHOS ÉOIOT OO SOIENT 





PART TWO 
BOOK VIII 


C1740] 


T the end of the preceding book a pause was neces- 
A sary. With this begins the long chain of my mis- 
fortunes deduced from their origin. 

Having lived im the two most splendid houses in Paris, 

Ï had, notwithstandimg my retirimg disposition, made 
some acquaintances, amongst others, at Madame Dupin's, 
that of the young Hereditary Prince of Saxe-Gotha, and 
of the Baron de Thun, his tutor; at the house of M. de 
La Poplinière, that of Monsieur Seguy, friend of the 
Baron de Thun, and known in the literary world by his 
fine edition of Rousseau. The Baron invited Monsieur 
Seguy and myself to go and pass a day or two at Fon- 
tenay-sous-Bois, where the Prince had a house. We went, 
and as [I passed Vincennes, at the sight of the donjon my 
feelmgs were acute, the effect of which the Baron per- 
cerved on my countenance. At supper the Prince men- 
tioned the confinement of Diderot. The Baron, wish- 
mg to hear what I had to say, accused the prisoner of 
imprudence; and I showed not a little of the same im the 
impetuous manner in which I defended him. This excess 
of zeal, inspired by the misfortune which had befallen a 
friend, was pardoned, and the conversation immediately 
changed. There were present two Germans in the ser- 
vice of the Prince: Monsieur Klupffel, a man of great 


F3] 


THE CONFESSIONS 


intelligence, his chaplain, and who afterwards, having 
supplanted the Baron, became his tutor; the other was 
a young man named Monsieur Grimm, who served him 
as a reader until he could obtain some place, and whose 
indifferent appearance sufficiently proved the pressing 
necessity he was under of finding one. From this very 
evening Klupffel and [ began an acquaintance which 
soon led to friendship. That with the Sieur Grimm did 
not make quite so rapid a progress; he made but few 
advances, and was far from having that presumimg style 
which prosperity afterwards gave him. The next day at 
dinner, the conversation turning upon music, he spoke 
well on the subject. [ was transported with joy when I 
learned that he could play an accompaniment on the 
harpsichord. After dinner was over, music was intro- 
duced, and we amused ourselves the rest of the afternoon 
on the Prince’s harpsichord. Thus began that friend- 
ship which was at first so agreeable to me, afterwards so 
fatal, and of which I shall hereafter have so much to say. 

At my return to Paris [ learned the agreeable news 
that Diderot was released from the donjon, and that he 
had, on his parole, the Castle and Park of Vincennes for 
a prison, with permission to see his friends. How pain- 
ful it was to me not to be able imstantly to fly to him! 
But I was detamned two or three days at Madame Dupin’s 
by indispensable business. After ages of impatience, I 
flew to the arms of my friend. Joy mexpressible! He 
was not alone: D’Alembert and the treasurer of the 
Sainte-Chapelle were with him. As I entered I saw no- 
body but himself. [ made but one step, one cry: I 
riveted my face to his: Î pressed him in my arms, with- 
out speaking to him except by tears and sighs: I stifled 
him with my affection and joy. The first thing he did, 
after quittimg my arms, was to turn himself towards the 
ecclesiastic, and say: “You see, sir, how much I am be- 


C4] 


JFAN-JACQUES "ROUSSEAU 


 loved by my friends.” My emotion was so great that it 
was then impossible for me to reflect upon this manner of 
turning it to advantage; but, in sometimes thinking of 
it since, [I have always been of opinion that, had I been 
im the place of Diderot, the idea he manifested would 
not have been the first to occur to me. 

I found him much affected by his imprisonment. The 
donjon had made a terrible impression upon his mind, 
and, although he was very agreeably situated in the castle, 
and at liberty to walk where he pleased in the park, which 
is not enclosed even by a wall, he wanted the society of 
his friends to prevent him from yielding to melancholy. 
As I was the person most concerned for his sufferings, I 
imagined I should also be the friend the sight of whom 
would give him most consolation; on which account, not- 
withstanding very pressing occupations, [| went every 
two days at furthest, either alone or accompanied by his 
wife, to pass the afternoon with him. 

The heat of the summer was this year (1740) excessive. 
Vincennes is some two leagues from Paris. The state of 
my purse not permitting me to pay for hackney coaches, 
at two o’clock in the afternoon I went on foot when alone, 
and walked as fast as possible, that Î might arrive the 
sooner. The trees by the side of the road, always 
lopped, according to the custom of the country, afforded 
but little shade, and, exhausted by fatigue, I frequently 
threw myself on the ground, being unable to proceed. 
I thought a book im my hand might make me moderate 
my pace. One day I took the Mercure de France, and as 
I walked and read I came to the followimg question, pro- 
posed by the Academy of Dijon for the prize of the en- 
-suimg year: ‘Has the progress of sciences and arts con- 
tributed to corrupt or to purify morals?? 

The moment I read this I beheld another world, and 
became a different man. Although I have a vivid remem- 


C5] 


THEMCONFESSIONSRES 


brance of the impression it made upon me, the detail has 
escaped my mind, since Î communicated it to Monsieur 
de Malesherbes in one of my four letters to him. This 
is one of the singularities of my memory which merits to 
be remarked. It serves me in proportion to my depend- 
ence upon it; the moment [ have committed to paper 
that with which it was charged, it forsakes me, and I 
have no sooner written a thing than Î[ have forgotten it 
entirely. This simgularity is the same with respect to 
music. Before [I had learned the use of notes [ knew a 
great number of songs: directly Î knew how to sing an 
air set to music, Î could not recollect any one of them; 
and at present [ much doubt whether [ should be able 
entirely to go through one of thoseof which I was most fond. 

AIT I distinctly recollect upon this occasion, is that 
on my arrival at Vincennes Ï was in an agitation which 
approached delirrum. Diderot perceived it; I told him 
the cause, and read to him the prosopopœia of Fabricus, 
written with a pencil under an oak-tree. He encouraged 
me to pursue my ideas, and to become a competitor for 
the prize. I did so, and from that moment Î was rumed. 
AIT the rest of my life and its misfortunes were the in- 
evitable effect of this moment of error.! 

My sentiments became elevated with the most incon- 
ceivable rapidity to the level of my ideas. AII my little 
passions were stifled by the enthusiasm of truth, liberty, 
and virtue; and, what is most astonishing, this effer- 
vescence continued in my mind for upwards of five years, 
to as great a degree, perhaps, as it has ever done in that 
of any other man. 

Î composed the discourse in a very singular manner, 
one which I have generally followed in all my other works. 


! In Rousseau’s second letter to Malesherbes, and in Marmontel’s 
Memoirs, Book vir1., may be found some interesting particulars respecting 


this incident. 
C6] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


I dedicated to it the hours of the night im which sleep de- 
serted me. Î meditated in my bed with closed eyes, and 
in my mind turned over and over again my periods with 
imcredible labour and care. Then, being finished to my 
satisfaction, Î deposited them in my memory, until I had 
an opportunity of committing them to paper; but the 
time of rising and putting on my clothes made me lose 
everything, and when I took up my pen [I recollected 
but little of what I had composed. I resolved to make 
Madame Le Vasseur my secretary. I had lodged her, 
with her daughter and husband, nearer to myself; and 
she, to save me the expense of a servant, came every 
morning to make my fire, and to do such other little 
things as were necessary. As soon as she arrived, I dic- 
tated to her while im bed what [I had composed im the 
night, and this method, which for a long time I observed, 
preserved to me many thimgs that [I should otherwise 
have forgotten. 
. As soon as the discourse was finished, I showed it to 
Diderot. He was satisfied with the production, and sug- 
gested some corrections. However, this composition, full 
of force and fire, absolutely wants logic and order. Of all 
the works I ever wrote, this is the weakest in reasoning, 
and the most devoid of number and harmony; but, with 
whatever talent a man may be born, the art of writing 
is not very readily learned. 

I sent off this piece without mentioning it to anybody, 
except, I think, to Grimm, with whom after his gong to 
live with the Comte de Frièse, Î began to be upon the 
most intimate footing. His harpsichord served as a 
rendezvous, and at it Î passed with him all the moments 
I had to spare in singimg Italian airs and barcarolles with- 
out imtermission from morning till night, or rather from 
night until mornmg; and, when Î was not to be found 
at Madame Dupin’s, everybody concluded I was with 


Er 


THE CONFESSIONS OR 


Grimm at his apartment, in the public walk or the 
theatre. I left off going to the Comédie-Italienne, of 
which I was free, but for which he had no liking, to go 
with him — and pay — to the Comédie-Française, of 
which he was passionately fond. In short, so powerful 
an attraction connected me with this young man, and I 
became so inseparable from him, that the poor ‘aunt” 
herself was rather neglected — that is, | saw her less 
frequently, though im no moment of my life has my at- 
tachment to her been dimimished. 

> This impossibility of dividing in favour of my inclina- 
” tions the little time Ï had to myself, renewed more strongly 
than ever the desire TI had long entertained of having but 
one home for Thérèse and myself; but the embarrass- 
ment of her numerous family, and especially the want of 
money to purchase furniture, had hitherto withheld me 
from accomplishing it. An opportunity to do so pre- 
sented itself, and of this I took advantage. Monsieur de 
Francueil and Madame Dupin, clearly perceirving that 
eight or nime hundred francs a year were unequal to my 
wants, increased my salary of their own accord to fifty 
louis; and, moreover, Madame Dupin having heard that 
Ï wished to furnish my lodgings, assisted me with some 
articles for that purpose. With this furniture and that 
which Thérèse already had, we made one common stock, 
and, having hired an apartment in the Hôtel de Langue- 
doc, Rue de Grenelle-Saint-Honoré, kept by very honest 
people, we arranged ourselves in the best manner we could, 
and lived there peaceably and agreeably during seven 
years, at the end of which time I removed to the Hermit- 
age. 

Thérèse’s father was a good old man, very mild in his 
disposition, and much afraid of his wife; for this reason he 
had given her the surname of Lieutenant Criminel, which 
Grimm jocosely transferred afterwards to the daughter. 


C8] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


Madame Le Vasseur did not want sense — that is, sharp- 
ness — and pretended to the politeness and airs of the 
first circles; but she had a mysterious wheedling manner, 
which to me was msupportable, gave bad advice to her 
daughter, endeavoured to make her dissemble with me, 
and cajoled my friends at my expense and at that of each 
other; excepting these circumstances, she was a tolerably 
good mother, because she found her account in being so, 
and concealed the faults of her daughter to turn them to 
her own advantage. This woman, who had so much of 
my care and attention, to whom Î made so many little 
presents, and by whom I had it extremely at heart to 
make myself beloved, was, from the impossibility of my 
succeeding in this wish, the only cause of the uneasiness 
that I suffered in my little establishment. Except the 
effects of this cause, [ enjoyed during these six or seven 
years the most perfect domestic happiness of which human 
weakness is capable. The heart of my Thérèse was that 
of an angel; our attachment increased with our intimacy, 
and we were daily more and more convinced how 
much we were made for each other. Could our pleasures 
be described, their simplicity would cause laughter — 
our walks together outside of the city, where I magnifi- 
cently spent eight or ten sous in some guinguette: our 
little suppers at my window, seated opposite to each 
other upon two little chairs, placed upon 2 trunk, which 
filed up the space of the embrasure. In this situation the 
window served us as a table, we breathed the fresh air, 
enjoyed the prospect of the environs and the people 
who passed; and, although upon the fourth story, Iooked 
down into the street as we ate. Who can describe, who can 
feel, the charms of these repasts, consisting only of a loaf 
of coarse bread, a few cherries, a morsel of cheese, and a 
small bottle of wine which we drank between us? Friend- 
ship, confidence, intimacy, sweetness of disposition, how 


Co] 


THE CONFESSIONS 


delicious are your seasonings! We sometimes remained 
in this situation until midnight, and never thought of the 
hour, until informed of it by the good-woman of the 
house. But let us quit these details, which must seem 
insipid or laughable. [ have always said and felt that 
real enjoyment was not to be described. 

7 Much about the same time I indulged in one, a more 
gross enjoyment, the last of the kind with which [ have 
to reproach myself. I have observed that the minister 
Klupffel was an amiable man; my connections with him 
were almost as intimate as those I had with Grimm, and 
in the end became as familiar; they sometimes ate at 
my apartment. These repasts, a little more than simple, 
were enlivened by the witty and extravagant wanton- 
ness of expression of Klupffel, and the divertmg Germani- 
cisms of Grimm, who had not yet become a purist. 
Sensuality did not preside at our little orgies, but merri- 
ment made up for that, and we enjoyed ourselves so well 
together that we knew not how to separate. Among 
other household goods, Klupffel had furnished himself 
with a little girl, who, notwithstanding this, was at the 
service of anybody, because he could not support her en- 
tirely himself. One evenmg as we were going into the 
café, we met him coming out with the intention of going 
to sup with her. We rallied him; he revenged himself 
gallant[y, by Imviting us to the same supper, and there 
rallyimg us in turn. The poor creature appeared to be of 
a good disposition, mild, and little fitted for the way of 
life in which an old hag she had with her did her best to 
mstruct her. Wine and conversation enlivened us to such 
a degree that we forgot ourselves. The amiable Klupffel 
was unwilling to do the honours by halves, and we all 
three successively visited the next chamber, in company 
with his poor little girl, who knew not whether to laugh or 
cry. Grimm has always maintained that he never touched 


Lio] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


her; it was therefore to amuse himself with our impatience 
that he remained so long with her, and if he abstained, 
there is not much probability of his having done so from 
scruple, because, previously to his going to live with the 
Comte de Frièse, he had lodged with girls of the town in 
this same quarter of Saint-Roch. 

I left the Rue des Moineaux, where this girl lived, as 
much ashamed as Saimt-Preux when he left the house in 
which he had become intoxicated; and when I wrote his 
story [ well remembered my own.! Thérèse perceived 
by some sign, and especially by my confusion, that [ had 
somethimg with which [ reproached myself. IT relieved 
my mind by a frank and immediate confession. IT did 
well, for the next day Grimm came im triumph to relate 
to her my crime with aggravation, and since that time he 
never failed maliciously to recall it to her recollection. 
In this he was the more culpable, since I had freely and 
voluntarily given him my confidence, and had a right to 
expect he would not make me repent of it. I never had 
a more convincing proof than on this occasion of the good- 
ness of my Thérèse’s heart: she was more shocked at the 
behaviour of Grimm than offended by my infidelity, and 
ÎÏ received nothmg from her but tender reproaches, in 
which there was not the least appearance of any bitter- 
ness. 

The simplicity of mind of this excellent girl was equal 
to her goodness of heart, and this is saying everything; 
but one instance of it, which is present to my recollec- 
tion, is worthy of being related. I had told her that 
Klupffel was a minister, ? and chaplain to the Prince of 
Saxe-Gotha. A minister was to her so singular a man 
that, oddly confounding the most dissimilar ideas, she 
took it into her head to take Klupffel for the Pope. I 


1 See La Nouvelle Héloïse. 
2? À Protestant clergyman. 


Coral 


THE CONFESSIONSRE 


thought her mad the first time she told me, when I came 
in, that the Pope had called to see me. I made her ex- 
plain herself, and lost not a moment in going to relate the 
story to Grimm and Klupffel, to whom we thenceforth 
gave the appellation of Pope. We gave to the girl in the 
Rue des Moineaux the name of Pope Joan. Our laughter 
was incessant; it almost stifled us. They who in a letter 
which it hath pleased them to attribute to me have made 
me say that I never laughed but twice in my life, did not 
know me at this period, nor in my younger days; for, if 
they had, surely the idea could never have entered their 
heads. | 


C1750-1752.] The year following (1750), not think- 
ing more of my discourse, Î learned it had gamed the 
prize at Dijon. This news awakened all the ideas which 
had dictated it to me, gave them new animation, and 
completed the fermentation in my heart of that first 
leaven of heroism and virtue which my father, my 
country, and Plutarch had mspired in my infancy. 
Nothing now appeared great in my eyes but to be free 
and virtuous, superior to fortune and opinion, and wholly 
sufficient to oneself. Although a false shame and a fear 
of disapprobation at first prevented me from conductimg 
myself according to these principles, and from suddenly 
flymg in the face of the maxims of the age I lived in, my 
decision was then taken, and I only delayed its accom- 
plishment till opposition should assume such an irritat- 
ing form that I could be sure of a triumph. 

While I was thus philosophismg upon the duties of 
man, an event happened which made me better reflect 
upon my own. Thérèse became pregnant for the third 
time. Too sincere with myself, too haughty to contra- 
dict my principles by my actions, [I began to examine 
the destination of my children, and my connections with. 


Cr2] 


HBAN-=-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


the mother, according to the laws of nature, justice, 
and reason, and those of that religion — pure, holy, 
and eternal, like its Author — which men have pol- 
luted while they pretend to purify it, and which, by 
their formularies, they have reduced to a mere reli- 
gion of words, since the difficulty of prescribing impossi- 
bilities is but trifling to those by whom they are not 
practised. 

If I decerved myself in my conclusions, nothing can be 
more astonishing than the security with which I depended 
upon them. Were I one of those men, born deaf to the 
soft voice of nature, in whom no sentiment of justice or 
humanity ever took root, this obduracy would be natural. 
But that warmth of heart, quick sensibility, and facility 
of forming attachments; the force with which they sub- 
due me; my cruel suffermgs when obliged to break them; 
the innate benevolence I cherish towards my fellow- 
creatures; the ardent love I bear to whatever is great, 
true, beautiful, and just; the horror im which I hold evil 
of every kind; the impossibility of hatimg, of imjuring, or 
wishimg to injure, any one; the soft and lively emotion 
I feel at the sight of whatever is virtuous, generous, and 
amiable — can these meet in the same mind with the 
depravity which without scruple treads underfoot the 
most pleasing of all our duties? No; I feel and openly 
declare this to be impossible. Never im his whole life 
could Jean-Jacques be a man without sentiment, without 
compassion, an unnatural father. [I may have been de- 
ceived;-but never-hardened-myself. Were I to give my 
reasons [ should say too much; since they have seduced 
me, they would seduce many others. I will not, there- 
fore, expose those young persons by whom I may be read 
to the same danger. I will satisiy myself by observing 
that my error was such, that, in abandoning my children 
to Hoi Du non for want of the means of bringing 


NTATO ET 


THE CONFESSIONSHOER 


them up myself; in destining them to become workmen 
and peasants, rathér than adventurers and fortune- 
hunters, I thought I was acting the part of a citizen and 
father, and considered myself as a member of the republic 
of Plato. Since that time the regrets of my heart have 
more than once told me I was deceived; but my reason 
was so far from giving me the same imtimation, that I 
have frequently returned thanks to Heaven for having, 
by this means, preserved them from the fate of their 
father, and that by which they were threatened the 
moment Î[ should have been under the necessity of leav- 
ing them. Had I left them to Madame d'Epinay or 
Madame de Luxembourg, who, from friendship, gener- 
osity, or some other motive, offered to take care of them 
in due time, would they have been more happy, better 
brought up, or honester men? To this [ cannot answer, 
but Ï am certain they would have been taught to hate 
and, perhaps, betray their parents: it is much better 
that they have never known them. 

My third child.was; therefore, carried to the Enfants. 
Trouvés as well as the two former, and-the next two were 
disposed of in the same manner; for I have had/five | 
children in all. This arrangement seemed to me so ec 
reasonable, and lawful, that if I did not publicly boast of 
it, the motive by which I was withheld was merely my 
regard for their mother; but I mentioned it to all those 
to whom I had declared our connectionsstt Diderot, to 
Grimm, afterwards to Madame d’Épinay, and, after 
another interval, to Madame de Luxembourg; and this 
freely and voluntarily, without being under the least 
necessity of doing it, having it in my power to conceal the 
step from all the world, for La Gouin was an honest 
woman, very discreet, and a person on whom I had the 
greatest relance. The only one of my friends to whom 
it was in some measure my interest to reveal the matter, 


Ci4] 


mp 
ame 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


was Thierry the physician, who had the care of my poor 
‘aunt” im one of her [ymgs-in, m which she was very ill. 
In a word, there was no mystery.in my conduct, not only 
on account of my neyver-having-concealed anything from 
my friends, but because I never perceived.any harm im it, 
Evérything considered, Î chose the best destination for 
my children, or that which I thought to be such. “I 
should have wished, and still should wish, to have been 
brought up as they have been. 

DT Whist T was thus communicating what I had done, 
Madame Le Vasseur did the same thing amongst her 
acquaintance, but with less disinterested views. I had 
introduced her and her daughter to Madame Dupin, 
who, from friendship to me, showed them the greatest 
kmdness. The mother confided to her the secret of the 
daughter. Madame Dupin, who is generous and kind, 
and to whom she never told how attentive I was to her, 
notwithstandimg my moderate resources, in providing 
for everything, provided on her part for what was neces- 
sary, with a liberality which, by order of her mother, the 
daughter concealed from me during my residence at 
Paris, nor ever mentioned it until we were at the Her- 
mitage, when she informed me of it, after having dis- 
closed to me several other secrets of her heart. I knew 
not that Madame Dupin, who never took the least notice 
to me of the matter, was so well informed. I know not 
yet whether Madame de Chenonceaux, her daughter- 
in-[aw, was as much in the secret; but Madame de Fran- 
cuerl, her stepdaughter, knew the whole and could not 
refrain from prattlmg. She spoke of it to me the follow- 
ing year, after I had left their house. This induced me 
to write her a letter upon the subject, which will be found 
in my collections, and wherein I gave such of my reasons 
as [ could make public, without exposing Madame Le 
Vasseur and her family; the most determining reasons 


Ci5] 


THE CONFESSIONSAONE 


came from that quarter, and these I kept profoundly 
secret. 

I can rely upon the discretion of Madame Dupin, and 
the friendship of Madame de Chenonceaux; I had the 
same dependence upon that of Madame de Francueil, 
who, however, was long dead before my secret made its 
way into the world. This it could never have done ex- 
cept by means of the persons to whom I imtrusted it, nor 
did it until after my rupture with them. By this single 
fact they are judged; without exculpatimg myself from 
the blame [I deserve, I prefer it to that which 1s due to 
their malignity. My fault is great, but it was an error. 
I have neglected my duty, but the desire of doing an 
injury never entered my heart; and the feelimgs of a 
father were never more eloquent in favour of children 
whom he never saw. But betraying the confidence of 
friendship, violatmg the most sacred of all engagements, 
publishing secrets confided to us, and wantonly dis- 
honouring the friend we have deceived, and who in de- 
taching himself from our society still respects us, are not 
faults, but baseness of mind and stains upon reputation. 

I have promised my confession and not my justifica- 
tion, on which account I shall stop here. It is my duty 
to relate the truth, that of the reader to be just; more 
than this I never shall require of him. 

The marriage of Monsieur de Chenonceaux rendered his 
mother’s house still more agreeable to me, by the wit and 
merit of the new bride, a very amiable young person, who 
seemed to distinguish me amongst the scribes of Monsieur 
Dupin. She was the only daughter of Madame la Vicom- 
tesse de Rochechouart, a great friend of the Comte de 
Frièse, and consequently of Grimm, who was very atten- 
tive to her. However, it was I who introduced him to 
the daughter; but their characters not suiting each other, 
this connection was not of long duration; and Grimm, 


C16] 


HAAN=-JACOQUESCROUSSE AU 


who from that time aimed at what was solid, preferred 
the mother, a woman of the world, to the daughter, 
who wished for steady friends, such as were agreeable 
to her without troubling her head about the least intrigue, 
or making any interest amongst the great. Madame 
Dupin, no longer finding in Madame de Chenonceaux all 
the docility she expected, made her house very disagree- 
able to her, and Madame de Chenonceaux, having a great 
opinion of her own merit, and perhaps of her birth, chose 
rather to give up the pleasures of society, and remain 
almost alone in her apartment, than to submit to a yoke 
she was not disposed to bear. This species of exile im- 
creased my attachment to her, by that natural mclina- 
tion which excites me to approach the wretched. I found 
her mind metaphysical and reflective, although at times 
a little sophistical. Her conversation, which was by no 
means that of a young woman coming from a convent, 
had for me the greatest attraction; yet she was not 
twenty years of age. Her skin was of a dazzling white- 
ness; her figure would have been majestic had she held 
herself more upright; her hair, which was fair, bordering 
upon ash-colour, and uncommonly beautiful, called to 
my recollection that of poor Mamma, in the flower of her 
age, and strongly agitated my heart. But the severe 
principles I had just laid down for myself, by which at all 
events | was determined to be guided, secured me from 
the danger of her and her charms. Durmg a whole 
summer Î passed three or four hours every day with her, 
without any third person, seriously teaching her arith- 
metic, and fatiguimg her with my imnumerable figures 
and sums, without uttering a single word of gallantry, 
or even once glancing my eyes upon her. Five or six 
years later I should not have had so much wisdom 
or folly; but it was decreed that Î[ was never to 
experience ‘true love but once in my life, and that 


PE 


THE (CONFESSIONS 


another person was to have the first and last sighs of my 
heart. 

Since I had lived in the house of Madame Dupin, I 
had always been satisfied with my situation, without 
showing the least sign of a desire to improve it. The ad- 
dition which, in conjunction with Monsieur de Francueil, 
she had made to my salary, was entirely of their own 
accord. This year Monsieur de Francueil, hose friend- 
ship for me daily increased, had it in his thoüghts to place 
me more at ease, and in a less precarious Situation. He 
was Receiver-General of Finance. Monsieur Dudoyer, 
his cashier, was old and rich, and wished to retire. Mon- 
sieur de Francueil offered me this place, and to prepare 
myself for it [| went during a few weeks to Monsieur 
Dudoyer, to take the necessary instructions. But, 
whether my talents were 1ll suited to the employment, or 
that Dudoyer, who I thought wished to procure his place 
for another, was not in earnest in the instructions he 
gave me, Î acquired slowly and imperfectly the knowledge 
Ï needed, and could never understand the nature of ac- 
counts like these, purposely rendered intricate. However, 
without having possessed myself of the whole scope of 
the business, I learned enough of the method to pursue 
it without the least difficulty. I even entered on my new 
office. I kept the cash books and the cash; I paid and 
received money, took and gave receipts; and, although 
this business was as 1ll suited to my inclinations as to 
my abilities, maturity of years beginning to render me 
sedate, ÎÏ was determined to conquer my disgust, and 
entirely devote myself to my new employment. Unfor- 
tunately, [ had no sooner begun to proceed without diffi- 
culty than Monsieur de Francueil took a little journey, 
during which [ remained intrusted with the cash, which, 
however, did not then amount to more than twenty- 
frve or thirty thousand francs. The anxiety of mind this 


C18 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


sum of money occasioned me made me perceive I was 
very unfit to be a cashier, and I have no doubt my uneasy 
situation, durimg his absence, contributed to the illness 
with which I was seized after his return. 

Ï have observed im my First Part that I was born in a 
dyimg state. A defect in the bladder caused me during 
my early years to suffer an almost contimual retention of 
urine, and my aunt Suzon, to whose care I was intrusted, 
had mconceivable difhculty im preserving me. However, 
she succeeded, and my robust constitution at length got 
the better of all my weakness, and my health became so 
well established that, except the 1llness from languor, of 
which I have given an account, and frequent heats in 
the bladder, which the least heating of the blood rendered 
troublesome, Î arrived at the age of thirty almost with- 
out feeling my original infirmity. The first time this 
recurred was upon my arrival at Venice. The fatigue of 
the voyage, and the extreme heat I had suffered, renewed 
the irritation, and gave me pains im the loms, which con- 
tinued until the beginning of the winter. After having 
seen the padoana, I thought the end was come, but I 
suffered not the Îeast inconvenience. After exhausting 
- my imagination more than my body for my Zuketta, I 
enjoyed better health than ever. It was not until after 
the imprisonment of Diderot that the internal mflamma- 
tion brought on by my journeys to Vincennes during the 
terrible heat of that summer gave me a violent attack of 
“ nephritis, smce which time I have never recovered my 
primitive state of health. 

At the period of which ÎI speak, having, perhaps, 
fatigued myself too much in the unhealthy work of this 
accursed cash-office, I fell into a worse state than ever, 
and remained for five or six weeks in my bed in the most 
melancholy state imaginable. Madame Dupin sent to 
me the celebrated Morand, who, notwithstanding his 


Cio] 


THE CONFESSIONSMUE 


address and the delicacy of his touch, made me suffer the 
greatest torments, and could never give me relief. He 
advised me to have recourse to Daran, whose appliances 
were better constructed, and reached the seat of the dis- 
order. But Morand, when he gave Madame Dupin an 
account of my condition, declared to her that I should 
not be alive in six months. This afterwards came to my 
ear, and made me reflect seriously on my situation, and 
the folly of sacrificing the agreeable repose of the few days 
I had to live to the slavery of an employment for which I 
felt nothing but disgust. Besides, how was it possible to 
reconcile the severe principles I had just adopted to a 
situation with which they had so little relation? Should 
not I, the cashier of a Receiver-General of Finances, have 
preached poverty and disinterestedness with a very 1ll 
grace? These ideas fermented so powerfully in my mind 
with the fever, and were so strongly impressed, that from 
that time nothing could remove them; and, during my 
convalescence, [ confirmed myself with coolness in the 
resolutions I had taken during my delirium. I for ever 
abandoned all projects of fortune and advancement. Re- 
solved to pass in independence and- poverty the little 
time I had to exist, [| made every effort of which my mind 
was capable to break the fetters of prejudice, and coura- 
geously to do everything that was right without giving 
myseli the least concern about the judgment of mankimd. 
The obstacles I had to combat, and the efforts I made to 
triumph over them, are imconcervable. I succeeded as 
well as it was possible, and to a greater degree than I 
myself had hoped for. Had I at the same time shaken 
off the yoke of friendship as well as that of prejudice, 
my design would have been accomplished — perhaps 
the greatest, at least the most useful one to virtue, that 
mortal ever conceived; but, whilst [ despised the fool- 
ish judgments of the vulgar tribe who call themselves 


L20] 


EPAN-FACOUESTROUSSEAU 


great and wise, I sufflered myself to be influenced and led 
by self-styled friends, who, hurt at seeing me walk alone 
in a new path, while seeming to take measures for my 
happiness, used all their endeavours to render me ridicu- 
lous, and, that they might afterwards defame me, first 
strove to make me contemptible. IÎt was less my literary 
fame than my personal reformation, of which I here state 
the period, that drew upon me their jealousy. They 
perhaps might have pardoned me for having distimguished 
myself in literature; but they could never forgive my 
setting them, by my conduct, an example which {seemed 
to reflect on themselves. I was born for friendship; my 
mind and easy disposition nourished it without difficulty. 
As long as I lived unknown to the public I was beloved 
by all my private acquamtance, and I had not a single 
enemy; but the moment I acquired literary fame I had 
no longer a friend. is was a great misfortune; a still 
greater was that of being surrounded by people who 
called themselves my friends, and used the rights at- 
tached thereto to lead me on to destruction. The suc- 
ceeding part of these memoirs will explain this odious 
conspiracy: [ here speak of its origin, and the manner of 
the first imtrigue will shortly appear. 

In the mdependence im which I desired to live, it was, 
however, necessary to subsist. To this effect I thought 
of very simple means, namely, copying music at so much 
a page. If any employment more solid would have ful- 
filled the same end I would have taken it up; but this 
occupation being to my taste, and the only one which, 
without personal attendance, could procure me daily 
bread, I adopted it. Thinking I had no longer need of 
foresight, and stiflmg vanity, from having been a cashier 


Of Finance I made myself a copyist of music. I thought 


Ï had made an advantageous choice, and of this I have 
so little repented that I have never quitted my new pro- 


[21] 


THE) CONFESSIONSHOE 


fession until I was forced to do so, after taking a fixed 
resolution to return to it as soon as possible. 

The success of my first discourse rendered the execu- 
tion of this resolution more easy. As soon as it had 
gained the prize, Diderot undertook to get it printed. 
Whilst I was in my bed, he wrote me a note informing 
me of the publication and effect. ‘It takes, said he, 
‘beyond all imagination; never was there an instance of 
a like success.” This favour of the public, by no means 
solicited, and towards an unknown author, gave me the 
first real assurance of my talents, of which, notwithstand- 
ing an inward feeling, [ had always had my doubts. I 
conceived the great advantage to be drawn from it in 
favour of the course I had determined to pursue, and was 
of opinion that a copyist who had also some celebrity in 
the republic of letters was not likely to want employment. 

The moment my resolution was fully confirmed, I 
wrote a note to Monsieur de Francueil, communicating 
to him my mtentions, thanking him and Madame Dupin 
for all their kmdness, and offerimg my services in the way 
of my new profession. Francueil did not understand my 
note, and, thinking Î was still in the delirium of fever, 
hastened to my apartment; but he found me so deter- 
mined that all he could say was without the least effect. 
He went to Madame Dupin, and told her and everybody 
he met that I had become imsane. I let him say what he 
pleased, and pursued my own plan. [ began by chang- 
img my dress; [ quitted laced clothes and white stock- 
ings; Î put on a round wig, laid aside my sword, and sold 
my watch, saying to myself, with inexpressible pleasure, 
‘Thank Heaven! TI shall no longer want to know the 
hour!” Monsieur de Francueïl had the goodness to wait 
a considerable time before he disposed of my place. At 
length, perceiving me imflexibly resolved, he gave it to 
Monsieur d’Ahbard, formerly tutor to the young 


[22] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


Chenonceaux, and known as a botanist by his Flora 
Parisiensis.! 

However austere my sumptuary reform might be, I 
did not at first extend it to my linen, which was fine and 
in great quantity, the remainder of my stock when at 
Venice, and to which I was particularly attached. By 
long considering it as essential to cleanliness, it had be- 
come dear to me as a luxury, and a costly one. Some 
person, however, was good enough to deliver me from 
this servitude. On Christmas Eve, whilst the gouver- 
neuses were at vespers, and [ was at the sacred concert, 
the door of a garret, in which all our linen was hung up 
after being washed, was broken open. Everything was 
stolen, and, amongst other things, forty-two of my 
shirts, of very fine linen, and which were the principal 
part of my stock. By the manner in which the neigh- 
bours described a man whom they had seen come out of 
the hotel with several parcels whilst we were all absent, 
Thérèse and I suspected her brother, whom we knew to 
be a worthless fellow. The mother strongly endeavoured 
to remove this suspicion, but so many circumstances con- 
curred to prove it to be well founded, that, notwithstand- 
ing all she could say, our opinions remained still the same. 
ÎÏ dared not make a strict search for fear of finding more 
than I wished to do. The brother never returned to the 
place where I lived, and at length was no more heard of 
by any of us. [I was much grieved that Thérèse and my- 
self should be connected with such a family, and I ex- 
horted her more than ever to shake off so dangerous a 
yoke. This adventure cured me of my inclination for 
fine linen, and since that time all I have had has been 


1 I doubt not but these circumstances are now differently related by 
M. Francueïl and his consorts; but Ï appeal to what he saïd of them at 
the time, and long afterwards, to everybody he knew, until the forming 
of the conspiracy, and of this men of common-sense and honour must 
have preserved a remembrance. — KR. 


Fes 


D ne 


THE: CONFESSIONSIME 


very common, and more suitable to the rest of my 
dress. 

Having thus completed my reformation, all my cares 
tended to render it solid and lasting, by striving to root 
out from my heart everything susceptible of receiving an 
impression from the judgment of men, or which, from the 
fear of blame, might turn me aside from anything good 
and reasonable in itself. In consequence of the success 
of my work, my resolution made some noise in the world 
also, and procured me employment, so that [ began my 
new profession with great appearance of success. How- 
ever, several causes prevented me from succeeding in it 
to the same degree as under other circumstances might 
have been the case. In the first place my 1ll state of 
health. The attack I had just had brought on conse- 
quences which prevented my ever being so well as I was 
before; and I am of opinion that the physicians to whose 
care Ï mtrusted myself did me as much harm as my ill 
ness. Î was successively under the hands of Morand, 
Daran, Helvétius, Malouim, and Thierry — men able in 
their profession, and all of them my friends, who treated 
me each according to his own manner, without giving 
me the least relief, and weakened me considerably. The 
more Ï submitted to their direction, the yellower, thinner, 
and weaker [ became. My imagination, which they 
terrified, judging of my situation by the effect of their 
drugs, presented to me, on this side of the tomb, nothing 
but continued sufferings from the gravel, stone, and 
retention of urine. Everything which gave relief to 
others, tisanes, baths, and bleeding, increased my tor- 
tures. Perceiving the bougies of Daran, the only ones 
that had any favourable effect, and without which I 
thought [I could no longer exist, to give me a momen- 
tary relief, Î procured, at great expense, a prodigious 
number of them, that, in case of Daran’s death, I 


C24] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


might never be at a loss. Durimg the eight or ten 
years in which I made such frequent use of these, they 
must, with what remain to me, have cost me fifty louis. 
It will easily be judged that such an expensive and pain- 
ful treatment did not permit me to work without inter- 
ruption, and that a dyimg man does not bring much 
ardour to the business by which he gains his daïly bread. 

Literary occupations caused another interruption not 
less prejudicial to my daily employment. My discourse 
had no sooner appeared than the defenders of letters fell 
upon me as 1f by preconcerted arrangement. My indig- 
nation was so raised at seemmg so many little copies of 
Monsieur Josse, : who did not understand the question, 
attempt to decide upon it magisterially, that in my 
answer Î gave some of them the worst of it. One Mon- 
sieur Gautier, of Nancy, the first who fell under my pen, 
was very roughly treated im a letter to Monsieur Grimm. 
The second was Kimg Stanislaus himself, who did not 
disdain to enter the lists with me. The honour he did me 
obliged me to change my manner im combatimg his 
opinions. Î made use of a graver style, but not less 
nervous, and, without failimg in respect to the author, I 
completely refuted his work. I knew that a Jesuit 
called Père Menou had been concerned in it. I depended 
on my judgment to distinguish what was written by the 
Prince from the portions supplied by the monk, and, 
falling without mercy upon all the Jesuitical phrases, I 
remarked, as I went along, an anachronism which I 
thought could come from nobody but the priest. This 
composition — which, for what reason I know not, has 
been less spoken of than any of my other writings — 1s 
so far the only one of its kind. I seized the opportunity 
which offered of showing to the public m what way an 
individual may defend the cause of truth even against a 

1 See Molière’s L'Amour Médecin, 1. 1. 


C25 ] 


THE  CONPESSTONSMEOr 


sovereïgn. It is difficult to adopt a more dignified and 
respectful manner than that in which [ answered him. 
I had the happiness to have to do with an adversary to 
whom, without adulation, [ could show every mark of 
the esteem with which my heart was full; and this I 
did with success and a proper dignity. My friends, con- 
cerned for my safety, imagined they already saw me im 
the Bastille. This apprehension never once entered my 
head, and I was right im not being afraid. The good 
Prince, after reading my answer, said: I have had enough 
of it; I will not return to the charge.” I have since that 
time received from him different marks of esteem and 
benevolence, of some of which I shall have occasion to 
speak; and what I had written was read in France, and 
throughout Europe, without meetmg the least censure. 

In a little time [I had another adversary whom I had 
not expected; this was the same Monsieur Bordes, of 
Lyons, who ten years before had shown me much friend- 
ship, and from whom I had received several services. I 
had not forgotten him, but had neglected him from idle- : 
ness, and had not sent him my writings for want of a 
ready opportunity to get them conveyed to his hands. 
Ï was therefore in the wrong, and he attacked me; this, 
however, he did politely, and [I answered in the same 
manner. He replied more decidedly. This produced my 
last answer, after which I heard no more from him; but - 
he became my most violent enemy, took advantage of 
the time of my misfortunes to publish against me the 
most imdecent hibels, and made a Journey to London on 
purpose to do me an Imjury. 

AIT this controversy employed me a good deal, and 
caused me a great loss of time in my copying, without 
much contributmg to the progress of truth, or the good 
of my purse. Pissot, at that time my bookseller, gave 
me but little for my pamphlets, frequently nothing at 

[ 26 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


all; for example, I never received a farthing for my first 
discourse — Diderot handed it to him as a gift. I was 
obliged to wait a long time for the little he gave me, and 
to take it from him sou by sou. Notwithstanding this, 
my copying went on but slowly. I had two things to- 
gether upon my hands, which was the most likely means 
of doing them both ill. 
© They were very opposite to each other in their effects 
by the different manners of living to which they rendered 
me subject. The success of my first writings had given 
me celebrity. My new situation excited curiosity. Every- 
body wished to know that whimsical man who sought not 
the acquaintance of any one, and whose only desire was to 
live free and happy in the manner he had chosen: this was 
sufficient to make the thing impossible to me. My apart- 
ment was continually full of people, who, under different 
pretences, came to take up my time. The women em- 
ployed a thousand artifices to engage me to dinner. The 
more unpolite [ was with people, the more obstinate they 
became. I could not refuse everybody. While I made 
myself a thousand enemies by my refusals, I was inces- 
santly a slave to my complaisance, and, in whatever 
manner Imademyplans, [hadnotan hourinadayto myself. 
[ then perceïved it was not so easy to be poor and 
independent as I had imagined. I wished to live by my 
profession: the public would not suffer me to doit. A 
thousand means were thought of to indemnify me for 
the time I lost. The next thing would have been show- 
img myself, like Polichinelle, at so much a head. I know 
no dependence more cruel and degrading than this. I 
saw no other method of putting an end to it than refus- 
ing all kinds of presents, great and small, let them come 
from whom they would. This had no other effect than 
to increase the number of givers, who wished to have the 
honour of overcoming my resistance, and to force me, in 


C27] 


THE CONFESSIONS EUR 


spite of myself, to be under an obligation to them. 
Many, who would not have given me an écu had I asked 
it of them, incessantly importuned me with their offers, 
and, in revenge for my refusal, taxed me with arrogance 
and ostentation. 

It will naturally be conceived that the resolution I had 
taken, and the system [ wished to follow, were not agree- 
able to Madame Le Vasseur. AÏl the disinterestedness of 
the daughter did not prevent her from following the 
directions of her mother; and the gouverneuses, as Gauffe- 
court called them, were not always so steady im their re- 
fusals as I was. Although many things were concealed 
from me, Î perceived enough to enable me to judge that 
I did not see all, and this tormented me less by the accu- 
sation of connivance, which it was so easy for me to fore- 
see, than by the cruel idea of never being master in my 
own apartments, nor even of my own person. [ prayed, 
conjured, and became angry, all to no purpose; the: 
mother made me pass for an eternal grumbler, rude and 
capricious; she was contimually whispering to my friends 
— everything in my household was mysterious and a 
secret to me; and, that [| might not mcessantly expose 
myself to noisy quarrellmg, I no longer dared to take 
notice of what passed in it. A frrmness of which I was 
not capable would have been necessary to withdraw me 
from this domestic strife. I knew how to complain, but 
not how to act; they suffered me to say what I pleased, 
and continued to act as they thought proper. 

77 This constant teasing, and the daily importunities to 
which I was subjected, at length rendered the house, and 
my residence at Paris, disagreeable to me. When my in- 
disposition permitted me to go out, and I did not suffer 
myself to be led hither and thither by my acquaintances, 
[ took a walk alone, and reflected on my grand system; 
something of which [ committed to paper, in a blank 


[28] 


JEAN-JIACQUES ROUSSEAU 


note-book, which, with a pencil, I always had in my 
pocket. Thus, in order to divert my mind from the un- 
foreseen discomforts of a condition which I had myself 
chosen, I became wholly devoted to literature, and con- 
sequent{y, in the first works I wrote, [ introduced the 
peevishness and 1ll-humour which were the cause of my 
undertaking them. 

There was another circumstance which contributed : 
not a little to this: thrown.into the world in despite of ! 
myself, without having its-manners, or being in a situa- | 
tion to adopt and conform myself to tliem, I took it-into! 
my head to adopt others of my own, to enable me to dis- 
pense with those of society. My Ésh-timidity, which 
T'could not « conquer, having for principle the fear of being 
wanting in the common forms, Î[ took, by way of en- 
couraging myself, a resolution to tread them underfoot. 
Ï became sour and a cynic from shame, and affected.to 
despise the politeness which I knew not how to practise. 
This austérity,; conformable to my new principles, [ 
must confess, seemed to ennoble itself im my mind; it 
assumed im my eyes the form of the intrepidity of virtue, 
and I dare assert it to be upon this noble basis that it 
supported itself longer and better than could have been 
expected from anything so contrary to my nature. Yet, 
notwithstanding I had the name of a misanthrope, which 
my exterior appearance and some happy expressions had 
given me in the world, it is certain that Î never supported 
the character well in private; that my friends and ac- 
quaintance led this mtractable bear about like a lamb; 
and that, confining my sarcasms to severe but general 
truths, Î was never capable of DE an uncivil HET tou 
any person wWha VE - 

Le Devin du Village rought me de into vogue, 
and presently after there was not a man in Paris whose 
company was more sought after than mine. The history 


LC 29 ] 


THE CONFESSIONSNDE 


of this piece, which is a kind of era in my life, is Jomed 
with that of the connections I had at that time. [ must 
enter a little into particulars to make what is to follow 
the better understood. 

I had a numerous acquaintance, yet no more than two 
friends, Diderot and Grimm. By an effect of the desire I 
have ever felt to unite everything that is dear to me, I 
was too much a friend to both not to make them shortly 
become so to each other. Î connected them; they agreed 
well together, and shortly became more intimate with 
each other than with me. Diderot had a numerous ac- 
quaintance, but Grimm; a stranger and a new-comer, had 
his to procure, and with the greatest pleasure [ procured 
him all I could. I had already given him Diderot; I 
afterwards brought him acquainted with Gauffecourt. I 
introduced him to Madame de Chenonceaux, Madame 
d’'Épinay, and the Baron d’'Holbach: with the latter I 
had become connected almost Im spite of myself. AÏI my: 
friends became his — this was natural; but not one of 
his ever became mine, which was inclinmg to the con- 
trary. Whilst he yet lodged at the house of the Comte 
de Frièse, he frequently gave us dinners in his apartment, 
but I never received the least mark of friendship from 
the Comte de Frièse, the Comte de Schomberg, his rela- 
tion — very familiar with Grimm — nor from any other 
person, man or woman, with whom Grimm, by their 
means, had any connection. Î except the Abb6 Raynal, 
who, although his friend, gave proofs of his being mine; 
and, im cases of need, offered me his purse with a gener- 
osity not very common. But I knew the Abbé Raynal 
long before Grimm had any acquaintance with him, and 
had entertained a great regard for him on account of his 
delicate and honourable behaviour to me upon a slight 
occasion, which [ shall never forget. 

The Abbé Raynal is certainly a warm friend: of this I 


C30] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


saw a proof, much about the time of which I speak, 
with respect to Grimm himself, with whom he was very 
imtimate. Grimm, after having been some time on a 
footing of friendship with Mademoiselle Fel, all at once 
fell violently in love with her, and wished to supplant 
Cahusac. The young lady, piquing herself on her con- 
stancy, refused her new admirer. He was thereupon 
seized with a kind of tragic grief, and made up his mind 
to die. He suddenly &ll into the strangest state imagin- 
able. He passed days and nights in a continued lethargy. 
He lay with his eyes open, and, although his pulse con- 
tinued to beat regularly, without speaking, eating, or 
Stirring; sometimes seeming to hear what was said to 
him, but never answering, not even by a sign, and re- 
maining almost as immovable as if he had been dead, 
yet without agitation, pain, or fever. The Abbé Raynal 
and myself watched over him; the Abbé — more robust 
and in better health than [I was — by night, and I by 
day, without both being ever absent at one time. The 
Comte de Frièse was alarmed, and brought to him Senac, 
who, after having examined the state in which he was, 
Said there was nothing to apprehend, and did not pre- 
Scribe. My fears for my friend made me carefully ob- 
serve the countenance of the physician, and I perceived 
him smile as he went away. However, the patient 
remained several days almost motionless, without taking 
broth, or anything except a few preserved cherries, 
which from time to time Ï put upon his tongue, and which 
he swallowed without difficulty. He one morning rose, 
dressed himself, and returned to his usual way of life, 
without either at that time, or afterwards, speaking to 
me or the Abbé Raynal — at least, that I know of — 
or to any other person of this singular lethargy, or of the 
care we had taken of him during the time it lasted. 

The affair did not fail to make a noise, and it would 


CM 







THE CONFESSIONS OF 


really have been a wonderful circumstance had the 
cruelty of an opera-singer made a man die of despair. 
This fine display of passion brought Grimm into vogue; 
he was soon considered as a prodigy in love, friendship, 
and attachments of every kind. Such an opinion made 
his company sought after, and procured him a good re- 
ception in the first circles; by which means he separated 
from me, with whom he never cared to associate when 
he could meet with anybody else. I perceived him to be 
on the point of breaking with me entirely; I was deeply 
grieved, for the lively and ardent sentiments of which he 
made a parade were those which, with less noise and pre- 
tension, I had really conceived for him. [I was glad of 
his success in the world; but I did not wish him to obtain 
this by forgetting his friend. I one day said to him, 
‘Grimm, you neglect me, and I forgive you for it. When 
the first intoxication of your success is over, and you 
begin to perceive its emptiness, [| hope you will return to 
your friend, whom you will always find the same. At 
present, do not constrain yourself; I leave you at liberty 
to act as you please, and wait your leisure” He said I 
was right, made his arrangements in consequence, and 
shook off all restraint, so that Î saw no more of him ex- 
cept in company with our common friends. 

Our chief rendezvous, before he was so closely con- 
nected with Madame d’Épimay as he afterwards became, 
was at the house of Baron d’'Holbach. This said Baron 
was the son of a man who had raised himself from ob: 
scurity. His fortune was considerable, and he used 1t 
nobly, receiving at his house men of letters and merit; 
and, by the knowledge he himself had acquired, was very 
worthy of holding a place amongst them. Having been 
long attached to Diderot, he endeavoured to become ac: 
quainted with me by his means, even before my name 
was known to the world. A natural repugnancy prevented 


L321 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


me for a long time from responding to his advances. 
One day, when he asked me the reason of my unwilling- 
ness, [ told him he was too rich. He was however re- 
solved to carry his point, and at length succeeded. My 
greatest.misfortune has always proceeded from my being 
unable to resist the force of marked attention:-atid T'have 
ever had reason to repent of having yielded to it. 
Another acquaintance which, as soon as I had any pre- 
tensions to it, was comverted into friendship, was that of 
Monsieur Duclos. I had several years before seen him, 
for the first time, at La Chevrette, where Madame 
d'Épinay lived, with whom he was upon very good terms. 
On that day we only dined together, and he returned to 
town in the afternoon; but we had a conversation of a 
few moments after dinner. Madame d’Épinay had men- 
tioned me to him, and my opera of Les Muses Galantes. 
 Duclos, endowed with too great talents not to be a friend 
to those im whom the like were found, was prepossessed 
in my favour, and invited me to go and see him. Not- 
withstanding my former wish, increased by an acquaint- 
ance, Ï was withheld by my timidity, and indolence, as 
long as I had no other passport to him than his com- 
plaisance; but encouraged by my first success, and by 
his eulogy, which reached my ears, I went to see him. 
He returned my visit, and thus began the connection 
between us which will ever render him dear to me. By 
him, as well as from the testimony of my own heart, I 
Jlearned that uprightness and probity may sometimes be 
allied with the cultivation of letters. 
: Many other connections less solid, and which I shall 
not here particularise, were the effects of my first success, 
and lasted until curiosity was satisfied. I was a man so 
easily known, that on the next day nothing new was to 
be discovered in me. However, one woman who at that 
time was desirous of my acquaintance became much 


L33u 





THE (CONFESSIONSMENS 


more firmly attached to me than all the rest: this was 
Madame la Marquise de Créqui, niece to Monsieur le 
Baïlli de Froulay, ambassador from Malta, whose brother 
had preceded Monsieur de Montaigu in the embassy to 
Venice, and whom ÎI had gone to see on my return from 
that city. Madame de Créqui wrote to me. TL visited 
her; she received me into her friendship. [ sometimes 
dined with her. Ï met at her table several men of letters, 
amongst others Monsieur Saurin, the author of Spartacus, 
Barneveldt, etc., since become my implacable enemy, for 
no other reason, at least that [ can imagine, than my 
bearing the name of a man whom his father has cruelly 
persecuted. 

It will appear that for a copyist, who ought to be em- 
ployed in his business from morning to night, I had 
many interruptions, which rendered my daily labour not 
very lucrative, and prevented me from being sufficiently 
attentive to what I did to do it well; for which reason, 
half the time I had to myself was lost in erasing errors or 
beginning my sheet anew. This importunity rendered 
Paris daily more insupportable, and made me ardently 
wish to be im the country. Î several times went to pass 
a few days at Marcoussis, the vicar of which was known 
to Madame Le Vasseur, and with whom we all arranged 
ourselves in such a manner as not to make things dis- 
agreeable to him. Grimm once went thither with us.! 
The vicar had a tolerable voice, sang well, and, although 
he did not read music, learned his part with great facility 
and precision. We passed our time in singmg my Chenon- 
ceaux trios. To these [I added two or three new ones, to 

1 Since I have neglected to relate here a trifling but memorable adven: 
ture I had there with the said Grimm one day, on which we were to dine 
at the Fontaine de Saint-Vandrille, I will let it pass; but when I thought 


of it afterwards, [ concluded that he was then brooding in his heart the 
conspiracy which he has, with so much success, since carried into execu: 


tion. — KR. 
C34] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


the words which Grimm and the vicar wrote, well or ill. 
Î cannot refrain from regretting these trios, composed 
and sung in moments of pure Joy, and which I left at 
Wootton, with all my music. Mademoiselle Davenport 
has perhaps already turned them into curl-papers; but 
they are worthy of being preserved, and are, for the most 
part, of very good counterpoint. [t was after one of 
these little exCUrsIons, in which [I had the pleasure of 
seeing the ‘aunt’ at her ease and very cheerful, and in 
which my spirits were much enlivened, that [ wrote to 
the vicar, very rapidly and very ill, an epistle in verse, 
which will be found amongst my papers. 

Ï had nearer to Paris another station much to my lik- 
mg with Monsieur Mussard, my countryman, relation, 
and friend, who at Passy had made himself a charming 
retreat, where I have passed some very peaceful moments. 
Monsieur Mussard was a jeweller, a man of good sense, 
who, after having acquired a fair fortune, had given his 
only daughter in marriage to Monsieur de Valmalette, 
the son of an exchange broker, and maître d’hôtel to the 
King, and took the wise precaution to quit business im 
his declining years, and to place an interval of repose 
and enjoyment between the bustle and the end of life. 
The good mar Mussard, a real philosopher im practice, 
lived without care, in a very pleasant house which he 
himself had built m a very pretty garden, laid out with 
his own hands. In digaing the terraces of this garden he 
found fossil shells, and in such great quantities that his 
lively imagmation saw nothing but shells in nature. He 
really thought the universe was composed of shells, or 
their broken fragments, and that the whole earth was 
only the sand of these. His attention being constantly 
engaged with this object and with his singular discoveries, 
his imagimation became so heated with the ideas they gave 
him, that, in his head, they would soon have been con- 


C35 1 


THENCONFESSIONSR 


verted into a system — that is, into a craze — if, happily 
for his reason, but unfortunately for his friends, to whom 
he was dear, and to whom his house was an agreeable 
asylum, a most cruel and extraordinary disease had not 
put an end to his existence. A constantly increasing 
tumour in his stomach prevented him from eating, long 
before the cause of it was discovered, and after several 
years of sufferimg absolutely occasioned him to die of 
hunger. I can never without the greatest affliction of mind 
call to my recollection the last moments of this worthy 
man, who still received with so much pleasure Lenieps 
and myself, the only friends whom the sight of his suffer- 
ings did not separate from him until his last hour, when 
he was reduced to devouring with his eyes the repasts 
he had placed before us, scarcely having the power of 
swallowimg a few drops of weak tea, which came up 
again a moment afterwards. But before these days of 
sorrow, how many have [I passed at his house with the 
chosen friends he had made himself! At the head of the 
list I place the Abbé Prévost, a very amiable man and 
very sincere, whose heart vivified his writings, worthy of 
immortality, and who, neither im his disposition nor im 
society, had aught of the melancholy colourmg he gave 
to his works; Procope the physician, a little Æsop, a 
favourite with the ladies; Boulanger, the celebrated post- 
humous author of Le Despotisme Oriental, and who, I am 
of opinion, extended the systems of Mussard on the dura- 
tion of the world. The female part of his friends con- 
sisted of Madame Denis, niece to Voltaire, who at that 
time was nothing more than a good kind of woman, and” 
pretended not to wit; Madame Vanloo, certainly not 
handsome, but charming, and who sang like an angel; 
Madame de Valmalette herself, who sang also, and who, 
although very thin, would have been very attractive had 
she had fewer pretensions. Such, or very nearly such, 


L36] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


was the society of Monsieur Mussard, with which I 
should have been much pleased, had not his conchylio- 
mama more engaged my attention, and Î can say, with 
great truth, that for upwards of six months I worked with 
him in his cabinet with as much pleasure as he felt him- 
self. 

He had long insisted upon the virtues of the waters of 
Passy, as being proper in my case, and recommended me 
to come to his house to drink them. To withdraw my- 
self from the tumult of the city, I at length consented, 
and went to pass eight or ten days at Passy, which on 
account of my being in the country were of more service 
to me than the waters I drank durmg my stay there. 
Mussard played the violoncello, and was passionately 
fond of Italian music. This was the subject of a long con- 
versation we had one evening after supper, particularly 
the opere buffe we had both seen im Italy, and with which 
we were highly delighted. My sleep having forsaken me 
im the night, [I considered in what manner it would be 
possible to give im France an idea of this kind of drama, 
for Les Amours de Ragonde ! did not in the least resemble 
it. In the mornimg, whilst I took my walk and drank the 
waters, Î bastily put together a few couplets to which I 
adapted such airs as occurred to me at the moment. 
I scribbled over what I had composed in a kind of vaulted 
saloon at the end of the garden; and at tea I could not 
refrain from showing the airs to Mussard and to Made- 
moiselle Duvernois, his housekeeper, who was a very 
good and amiable girl. The three pieces of composition 
which I had sketched out were the first monologue, ‘J’ai 
perdu mon serviteur’; the air of the Devin, ‘L’amour croît 
s'il s'inquiète’; and the last duo, ‘A jamais, Colin, je 
t’engage, etc. [I was so far from thinking it worth while 


1 À musical comedy, by Néricault Destouches, the music composed 
by Mouret. It was produced in 1742. 


Lam) 


THE CONFESSIONSMEE 


to continue what I had begun, that had it not been for 
the applause and encouragement I received from both, I : 
should have thrown my papers into the fire and thought 
no more of their contents, as I had frequently done by 
things of much the same merit; but Î was so excited by | 
praise, that in six days my drama, excepting a few cou- 
plets, was written. The music also was so far sketched 
out that all I had further to do to it after my return from 
Paris was to compose a little of the recitative, and to add 
the middle parts, the whole of which I finished with so 
much rapidity that in three weeks my work was ready 
for representation. The only thing now wanting was the 
divertissement, which was not composed until a long time 
afterwards. 


C1752.] My imagination was so warmed by the com- 
position of this work, that I had the strongest desire to 
hear it performed, and would have given anything to 
have seen and heard the whole m the manner I should 
have chosen, with closed doors, as Lully is said to have 
had Armide performed for himself only. As it was not 
possible for me to have this pleasure unaccompanied by « 
the public, I could not see the effect of my piece without 
getting it received at the Opéra. Unfortunately it was 
quite a new species of composition, to which the ears 
of the public were not accustomed; and, besides, the ill 
success of Les Muses Galantes gave me too much reason « 
to fear for Le Denn, if Î presented it in my own name. 
Duclos relieved me from this difficulty, and engaged to 
get the piece rehearsed without mentionmg the author. 
That [I might not discover myself, [ did not go to the 
rehearsal, and the Petits Violons,! by whom it was 


1 The title given to Rebel and Francœur, who, when they were very 
young, acquired a reputation in going together from house to house 
playing on the violin. — KR. 

C38] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


directed, knew not who the author was until after a 
general plaudit had attested the merit of the work. 
Everybody present was so delighted with it that, on the 
next day, nothing else was spoken of in various circles. 
Monsieur de Cury, Intendant des Menus, who was 
present at the rehearsal, demanded the piece for per- 
formance at Court. Duclos, who knew my intentions, 
and thought I should be less master of my work at the 
Court than at Paris, refused to give it. Cury claimed it 
authoritatively; Duclos persisted in his refusal; and the 
dispute between them was carried to such a length that 
one day they would have gone out from the Opera House 
together, had they not been separated. It was thought 
right to apply to me; I referred the decision to Monsieur 
Duclos. This made it necessary to return to him. Mon- 
sieur le Duc d’Aumont interfered; and at length Duclos 
thought proper to yield to authority, and the piece was 
given to be played at Fontainebleau. 

The part to which [ had been most attentive, and in 
which I had kept at the greatest distance from the com- 
mon track, was the recitative. Mine was accented in a 
manner entirely new, and accompanied the utterance of 
the word. The directors dared not suffer this horrid in- 
novation to pass, lest it should shock the ears of persons 
who never Judge for themselves. Another recitative by 
Francueil and Jelyotte was proposed, to which I con- 
sented, but refused at the same time to have anything to 
do with it myself. 

When everythmg was ready and the day of perfor- 
mance fixed, a proposition was made to me to go to Fon- 
tainebleau, that I might at least be present at the last re- 
hearsal. I went with Mademoiselle Fel, Grimm, and I 
think the Abbé Raynal, in a Court carriage. The re- 
hearsal was tolerable: I was more satisfied with it than 
I had expected to be. The orchestra was numerous, com- 


C 39 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


posed of the musicians of the Opéra and the King’s band. 
Jelyotte played Colin; Mademoiselle Fel, Colette; Cu- 
vilier, the Devin; the choruses were those of the Opéra. 
[ said but little. Jelyotte had prepared everything; I 
was unwilling to play the master over him; and, notwith- 
standing I had assumed the air of an old Roman, I was, 
in the midst of so many people, as bashful as a schoolboy. 
The next morning, the day of performance, I went to 
breakfast at the Café du Grand Commun, where I found 
a great number of people. The rehearsal of the preced- 
img evening, and the difhculty of getting into the theatre, 
were the subjects of conversation. An officer present said 
that he had entered with the greatest ease, gave a long 
account of what had passed, described the author, and 
related what he had said and done; but what astonished 
me most in this long narrative, given with as much as- 
surance as simplicity, was that it did not contain a syl- 
lable of truth. It was clear to me that he who spoke so 
positively of the rehearsal had not been at it, because, 
without knowing him, he had before his eyes that author 
whom he said he had seen so plainly. What was most 
simgular in this scene was its effect upon me. The officer 
was à man rather in years; he had nothing of the appear- 
ance of a fool or upstart; his features appeared to an- 
nounce a man of merit, and his cross of Saint-Louis an 
oficer of long standing. He interested me in spite of my- 
self, notwithstanding his impudence. Whilst he uttered 
his lies, I blushed, looked down, and sat upon thorns. I 
at times endeavoured within myself to find the means of 
believing him to be in an involuntary error. At length, 
trembling lest some person should know me, and by this 
means affront him, [ hastily drank my chocolate, with- 
out saying a word, and, holding down my head as I “ 
passed before him, got out of the coffee-house as soon as “ 
possible, whilst the company were making their remarks 


C 40] 


HPAN=TACQUESMROUSSEAU 


upon the relation that he had given. [ was no sooner in 
the street than I found myself in a perspiration, and, had 
anybody known and named me before I left the room, I 
am certain all the shame and embarrassment of a guilty 
person would have appeared in my countenance, pro- 
ceeding from what I felt the poor man would have had to 
suffer had his lie been discovered. 

Ï now come to one of the critical moments of my life, 
im which it is difficult to do anything more than to relate, 
because it 1s almost impossible that even narrative should 
not carry with it the marks of censure or apology. I 
will, however, endeavour to relate how and from what 
motives Î acted, without adding either approbation or 
blame. 

Ï was on that day in the same careless undress as usual, 
with a great beard and a wig badly combed. Consider- 
ing this want of decency as an act of courage, Î entered in 
this guise the theatre wherein the King, Queen, the Royal 
family, and the whole Court were to enter immediately 
after. Î was conducted to a box by Monsieur de Cury, 
one which belonged to him. It was very spacious, 
upon the stage, and opposite to a lesser but more elevated 
one, in which the King sat with Madame de Pompadour. 
As I was surrounded by ladies, and the only man in front 
of the box, I had no doubt of my having been placed 
there purposely to be exposed to view. As soon as the 
theatre was lighted up, fmding Î was in the midst of 
people all extremely well dressed, I began to be less at 
my ease, and asked myself if [ was in my place, and 
whether Î was properly dressed. After a few minutes of 
mquietude, ‘Yes,’ I mentally replied, with an mtrepidity 
which perhaps proceeded more from the impossibility of 
retracting than the force of all my reasoning, ‘I am im my 
place, because I am to see my own piece performed, to 
which I have been invited; because I have composed it 


Ca] 


THE CONFESSIONSMOR 


to that end; and because, after all, no person has a 
greater right than I to reap the fruit of my labour and 
talents. ÏI am dressed as usual, neither better nor worse; 
and, if Ï again begin to subject myself to opinion in any- 
thing, I shall shortly become a slave to it in everything. 
To be always consistent with myself, Î ought not to 
blush, in any place whatever, at being dressed in a man- 
ner suitable to the state [I have chosen. My exterior ap- 
pearance is simple, but neither dirty nor slovenly; nor is 
a beard either of these in itself, because it is given us 
by nature, and, according to time, place, and custom, 1s 
sometimes an ornament. People will think [I am ridicu- 
lous — nay, even absurd; but what signifies this to me? 
Ï ought to know how to bear censure and ridicule, pro- 
vided I do not deserve them.” After this little soliloquy, 
I became so firm that, had it been necessary, Î[ could have 
been intrepid. But, whether it was the effect of the 
presence of his Majesty or the natural disposition of those 
about me, Î perceived nothing but what was civil and 
obliging in the curiosity of which I was the object. This 
so much affected me, that I began to be uneasy for myself 
and the fate of my piece, fearing [I should efface favour- 
able prejudices which seemed to lead to nothing but ap- 
plause. [ was armed against raïllery, but so far over-« 
come by kind treatment which I had not expected, that 
I trembled like a child when the performance began. 

Ï soon had sufficient reason to be encouraged. The 
piece was very 1ll played with respect to the actors, but 
the musical part was well sung and executed. During 
the first scene, which is really of a delightful simplicity, 
Ï heard in the boxes a murmur of surprise and applause“ 
hitherto unknown im connection with pieces of the same 
kind. The fermentation was soon increased to such a 
degree as to be perceptible through the whole audience,“ 
and, to speak after the manner of Montesquieu, the 


C42] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


effect went on augmenting by its own force. In the scene 
between the two good little folks, this effect was complete. 
There is no clapping of hands before the King; there- 
fore everything was heard, which was advantageous to 
the author and the piece. I heard about me a whisper- 
ing of women, who appeared as beautiful as angels. They 
said to each other in a low voice, ‘This is charming! that 
is ravishing! There is not a sound which does not go to 
the heart!” The pleasure of giving this emotion to so 
many amiable persons moved me to tears; and these I 
could not contain in the first duo, when I remarked that 
Ï was not the only person who wept. I checked myself 
for a moment, on recollecting the concert of Monsieur de 
Tretorens. This remimiscence had the effect of the slave 
who held the crown over the head of the triumphant 
general; but my reflection was short, and [I soon aban- 
doned myself without interruption to the pleasure of 
enjoying my success. However, I am certain the volup- 
tuousness of the sex was more predominant than the 
vanity of the author, and, had none but men been present, 
Î certainly should not have had the mcessant desire I felt 
Of catching on my lips the delicious tears I had caused to 
flow. I have known pieces to excite more lively admira- 
tion, but Ï never saw so complete, delightful, and affect- 
ing an intoxication of the senses reign, durimg a whole 
representation, especially at Court, and at a first per- 
formance. Those who saw this must recollect it, for it 
has never vet been equalled. 

The same evening Monsieur le Duc d’Aumont sent to 
desire me to be at the palace the next day at eleven 
o’clock, when he would present me to the King. Mon- 
sieur de Cury, who delivered me the message, added that 
he thought a pension was imtended, and that the King 
: to announce it to me himself. 

Will it be believed that the night following so brilliant 


C 43] 





THE CONFESSIONS OF 


a day was for me a night of anguish and perplexity? My 
first idea, after that of this performance, was concerned 
with my frequently wanting to retire; this had made me 
suffer very considerably at the theatre, and might tor- 
ment me the next day when [I should be in the gallery, 
or in the King’s apartment, amongst all the great, waït- 
ing for the passing of his Majesty. This infrrmity was 
the principle cause which prevented me from mixing in 
polite companies, and shutting myself up in female 
society. The idea alone of the situation in which this 
want might place me was sufficient to produce it to such 
a degree as to make me feel sick, 1f I would not adopt a 
mode of relief to which death was preferable im my eyes. 
None but persons who are acquainted with this situa- 
tion can judge of the horror which being exposed to the 
risk of it mspires. 

Ï then supposed myself before the King, presented to 
his Majesty, who deigned to stop and speak to me. In 
this situation, justness of expression and presence of mind 
were peculiarly necessary im answering. Would my ac- 
cursed timidity, which disconcerts me in the presence of 
any stranger whatever, have been shaken off in the 
presence of the King of France; or would it have suffered 
me instantly to make choice of proper expressions? 
wished, without layimg aside the austere manner [ had 
adopted, to show myself sensible of the honour done me 
by so great a monarch, and in a merited eulogium to 
convey some great and useful truth. [I could not pre 
pare a suitable answer without exactly knowimg what his 
Majesty was to say to me; and had this been the case, 
Ï was certain that, in his presence, Ï should not recollect 
a word of what I had previously meditated. What, said 
I, will become of me in this moment, and before the whole 
Court, if, in my confusion, one of my usual ill-timed! 
phrases should escape me? This danger alarmed and 


C44] Il 


JIRAN-JACQUESr ROUSSEAU 


terrified me; Î[ trembled to such a degree that at all 
events Î was determined not to expose myself to it. 

Ï was thus losing, it is true, the pension which in some 
measure was offered me, but was at the same time ex- 
empting myself from the yoke it would have imposed. 
Adieu truth, liberty, and courage! How should [I after- 
wards have dared to speak of disinterestedness and imde- 
pendence? Had [I received the pension, Î must either 
have become a flatterer or remained silent; and, more- 
over, who would have insured to me the payment of it? 
What steps should I have been under the necessity of 
takmg! How many people must I have solicited! I 
should have had more trouble and anxious cares in pre- 
serving than im domg without it. Therefore, [ thought I 
acted according to my principles by refusmg, and sacri- 
ficng appearances to reality. [ communicated my reso- 
lution to Grimm, who said nothing against it. To others 
I alleged my ill state of health, and left the Court in the 
morning. 

My departure made some noise, and was generally con- 
demned. My reasons could not be known to everybody; 
it was, therefore, easy to accuse me of foolish pride, and 
thus gratify the jealousy of such as felt that they would 
not have acted as I had done. The next day Jelyotte 
wrote me a note, in which he stated the success of my piece, 
and the pleasure it had afforded the King. ‘AÏI day long, 
said he, ‘his Majesty sings, with the worst voice in his 
kingdom, “J’ai perdu mon serviteur; j'ai perdu tout 
mon bonheur.” He likewise added that in a fortnight or 
so Le Devin was to be performed a second time, which 
would confirm in the eyes of the public the complete 
success of the first representation. 

Two days afterwards, about nine o’clock in the even- 
Wing, as Ï was going to sup with Madame d’Epinay, I 
 perceived a hackney coach pass by the door. Somebody 


L 45 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


within made a sign to me‘to take a seat. TI did so, and 
found the person to be Diderot. He spoke of the pension 
with more warmth than, upon such a subject, I should 
have expected from a philosopher. He did not blame me 
for having been unwilling to be presented to the King, 
but severely reproached me with my imdifference about : 
the pension. He observed that, although on my own 
account I might be disinterested, I ought not to be so on 
that of Madame Le Vasseur and her daughter; that it 
was my duty to seize every means of providing for their 
subsistence; and that as, after all, it could not be said I 
had refused the pension, he maintaimed [I ought, since 
the King seemed disposed to grant it to me, to solicit 
and obtain it by one means or another. Although 
I was obliged to him for his good wishes, I could not relish 
his maxims, which produced a warm dispute — the first 
I ever had with him. All our disputes were of this kmd, 
he prescribing to me what he pretended I ought to do, 
and Î defending myself because I was of a different 
opinion. 

It was late when we parted. I would have taken him 
to supper at Madame d’'Epmay’s, but he refused to go; 
and, notwithstanding all the efforts which at different 
times the desire of uniting those [I love mduced me to 
make to prevail upon him to see her, even that of con- 
ducting her to his door, which he kept shut against us, 
he constant[y declined, and never spoke of her but with 
the utmost contempt. It was not until after I had quar- 
relled with both that they became acquainted, and that 
he began to speak honourably of her. 

From this time Diderot and Grimm seemed to have re- 
solved to alienate the gouverneuses from me, by giving 
them to understand that if they were not in easy circum- 
stances the fault was mine, and that they would never 
make any progress with me. They endeavoured to pre-w 


C 46 ] 





JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


vail on them to leave me, promising them a privilege for 
retailing salt, a tobacco-shop, and [I know not what 
other advantages, through the mfluence of Madame 
d'Épinay. They likewise wished to gain over Duclos and 
D’Holbach, but the former constantly refused their pro- 
posals. I had at the time some imtimation of what was 
going forward, but Î was not fully acquainted with the 
whole until long afterwards; and I frequently had reason 
to lament the effects of the blind and mdiscreet zeal of 
my friends, who, in my ill state of health, striving to re- 
duce me to the most melancholy solitude, endeavoured, 
as they imagined, to render me happy by the means 
which, of all others, were the most likely to make me 
miserable. 


[1753.] In the following Carnival (1753) Le Devin was 
performed at Paris, and im the mterval I had sufficient 
time to compose the overture and the divertissement. 
This divertissement, such as it is printed, was to be in 
action from beginnmg to end, and in a continued sub- 
ject, which, in my opinion, afforded very agreeable 
tableaux. But, when [I proposed this idea at the Opera 
House, nobody would so much as hearken to me, and I 
was obliged to tack together music and dances in the 
usual manner. On this account the divertissement, 
although full of charming ideas, which did not diminish 
the beauty of the scenes, had but a slight success. I 
suppressed the recitative of Jelyotte, and substituted 
my own, such as [I had first composed it, and as it is 
now printed; and this recitative — a little after the 
French manner, Î confess, drawled out, instead of pro- 
_nounced by the actors — far from shocking the ears of 
any person, succeeded equally with the airs, and 
| séemed im the judgment of the public to possess as 
much musical merit. Ï dedicated my piece to Duclos, 


C471 


THE  CONFESSIONSHOES 


who had given it his protection, and I declared that 
this should be my only dedication. [ have, however, 
with his consent, written a second; but he must have 
felt more honoured by the exception than if [ had not 
written a dedication to any person. 

I could relate many anecdotes concerning the piece, 
but things of greater importance prevent me from enter- 
ing into a detail of them at present. [ shall perhaps re- 
sume the subject in a supplement. There is, however, 
one which I cannot omit, as it relates to the greater part 
of what is to follow. [ was one day examiming Baron 
d'Holbach’s music in his cabinet. After having looked 
over many different kinds, he said, showmg me a col- 
lection of pieces for the harpsichord, ‘These were com- 
posed for me; they are full of taste and harmony, and 
quite unknown to anybody but myself. You ought to 
make a selection of one for your divertissement.” Hav- 
ing in my head more subjects of airs and symphonies 
than I could make use of, [ was not anxious to have any 
of his. However, he pressed me so much that, from a 
motive of complaisance, Î chose a pastoral, which [ 
abridged and converted into a trio, for the entry of the 
companions of Colette. Some months afterwards, and 
whilst Le Devin still continued to be performed, callmg 
upon Grimm [I found several people about his harpsi- 
chord, whence he hastily rose on my arrival. As I 
accidentally [ooked towards his music-stand, I there 
saw the same collection of the Baron d’Holbach, opened: 
precisely at the piece that he had prevailed upon me to 
take, assurimg me at the same time that it should never 
go out of his hands. Some time afterwards [ again saw 
this collection open on the harpsichord of Monsieur 
d’Épinay one day when he gave a little concert. Neïther 
Grimm nor anybody else ever spoke to me of this air, 
and my reason for mentioning it here is that some time: 


C 48 ] 


M 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


afterwards a rumour was spread that I was not the 
author of Le Devin du Village. As I never made great 
progress in the mere mechanism of the art, I am per- 
suaded that, had it not been for my Dictionnaire de 
Musique, it would in the end have been saïd that I did 
not understand 1t.! 

Some time before Le Devin du Village was performed, 
a company of Italian bouffons had arrived at Paris, 
and were ordered to perform at the Opera House, with- 
out the effect that they would produce there being fore- 
seen. Although they were detestable, and the orchestra, 
at that time very ignorant, mutilated at will the pieces 
they gave, they did not fail to inflict on French opera an 
mjury that will never be repaired. The comparison of 
these two kinds of music, heard the same evening in the 
same theatre, opened the ears of the French. Nobody 
could endure their languid music after the marked lively 
‘accents of Italian composition; and the moment the 
bouffons had done everybody went away. The managers 
were obliged to change the order of representation, and 
let the performance of the bouffons be the last. Eclé, 
Pygmalhon, and Le Sylphe were successively given: 
nothing could bear the comparison. The Devin du Vil- 
lage was the only piece that did it, and this was still 
relished after La Serva Padrona. When I composed my 
Interlude, my head was filled with these pieces, and they 
gave me the first idea of it. I was, however, far from im- 
agining they would one day be passed in review by the 
side of my composition. Had Ï been a plagiarist, how 
many pilfermgs would have been manifest, and what 
care would have been taken to point them out to the 
public! But I had done nothing of the kind. AI at- 
tempts to discover any such thing were fruitless: noth- 


! I little suspected, too, that this would be saïd of me, notwithstanding 
my Dictionnaire. — R 
C 49 ] 


= | 


THE  CONFESSIONSMOE 


ing was found in my music which led to the recollection 
of that of any other person, and my whole composition, 
compared with the pretended originals, was found to be 
as new as the musical characters [ had invented. Had 
Mondonville or Rameau undergone the same ordeal, 
they would have lost much of their substance. 

The bouffons acquired for Italian music very warm 
partisans. AÎT Paris was divided into two parties, the 
violence of which was greater than if an affair of state or 
religion had been in question. One of them, the more 
powerful and numerous, composed of the great, of men 
of fortune, and the ladies, supported French music; the 
other, more lively and confident, and fuller of enthusi- 
asm, was composed of real connoïsseurs, and men of 
talents and genius. This little group assembled at the 
Opera House, under the box belonging to the Queen. 
The other party filled up the rest of the pit and the 
theatre; but the heads were mostly assembled under 
the box of his Majesty. Hence the party names of 
‘Coin du Roï,’ ‘Coin de Ia Reine,’ then in great celebrity. 
The dispute, as it became more animated, produced 
several pamphlets. The King’s corner aimed at pleas- 
antry; it was laughed at by Le Petit Prophète. It at- 
tempted to reason; the Lettre sur la Musique Française 
refuted Its reasoning. These two little productions, 
the former of which was by Grimm, the latter by myself, 
are the only ones which have outlived the quarrel; all 
the rest are forgotten. 

But Le Petit Prophète, which, notwithstanding all I 
could say, was for a [long time attributed to me, was con- 
sidered as a pleasantry, and did not produce the least in- 
convenience to the author: whereas the Leitre sur la 
Musique was taken seriously, and incensed against me 
the whole nation, which thought itself offended by this. 
attack on its music. The description of the incredible 


C 50 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES, ROUSSEAU 


effect of this pamphlet would be worthy of the pen of 
Tacitus. The great quarrel between the Parliament and 
the clergy was then at its height. The Parliament had 
just been exiled; the fermentation was general; every- 
thmg announced an approaching imsurrection. The 
pamphlet appeared; from that moment every other quar- 
rel was forgotten; the perilous state of French music 
was the only thing by which the attention of the public 
was engaged, and the only imsurrection was against my- 
self. This was so general that it has never since been 
entirely calmed. At court, the Bastille or banishment 
was absolutely determined on, and a lettre de cachet would 
have been issued had not Monsieur de Voyer clearly 
shown that such a step would be ridiculous. Were I to 
say this pamphlet probably prevented a revolution, the 
reader would imagine Ï was in a dream. It is, however, 
a fact, the truth of which all Paris can attest, it being no 
more than fifteen years since the date of this singular 
incident. 

Although no attempts were made on my liberty, I 
suffered numerous insults, and even my life was m danger. 
The musicians of the Opera orchestra humanely resolved 
to murder me as Î went out of the theatre. Of this I 
received imformation; but the only effect it produced on 
me was to make me more assiduously attend the Opera: 
and Î did not learn until a considerable time afterwards 
that Monsieur Ancelet, officer in the Mousquetaires, and 
who had a friendship for me, had prevented the effect of 
this conspiracy by giving me an escort, which, unknown 
to myself, accompanied me on my departure. The direc- 
tion of the Opera House had just been given to the muni- 
cipality. The first exploit performed by the Prévôt des 
Marchands was to take from me my freedom of the 
theatre, and this in the most uncivil manner possible. 
Admission was publicly refused me on my presenting 


MST 


U. OF ILL. LIB. 


THE CONFESSIONS 


myself, so that [ was obliged to take an amphitheatre 
ticket, that I might not that evening have the morti-. 
fication to return as [I had come. This injustice was the 
more shameful, as the only price [ had set on my piece. 
when I gave it to the managers was a perpetual freedom 
of the house; for although this was a right common to 
every author, and which I enjoyed under a double title, 
[I especially stipulated for it in presence of Monsieur 
Duclos. It is true that the treasurer brought me fifty 
louis, for which I had not asked; but, besides the small- 
ness of the sum, compared with that which, accordmg 
to the rules established in such cases, was due to me, this 
payment had nothing in common with the right of entry 
formally granted, and which was entirely Independent of 
it. There was im this behaviour such a complication of 
miquity and brutality, that the public, notwithstanding 
its animosity against me, which was then at its height, 
was universally shocked at it, and many persons who had 
msulted me on the preceding evening, the next day ex- 
clatmed in the open theatre that it was shameful thus to 
deprive an author of his right of entry, and particularly 
one who had so well deserved it, and was entitled to 
claim it for himself and another person. So true is the 
Italian proverb: ‘Ogn’un ama [a giustizia in cosa d’al- 
trui.” 

In this situation the only thing I had to do was to de-“ 
mand my work, since the price I had agreed to receive 
for it was refused me. For this purpose Î wrote to Mon- 
sieur d’Argenson, who attended to this department of the“ 
Opéra. I likewise enclosed to him a memoir which was 
unanswerable; but this, as well as my letter, was ineffec-* 
tual, and I received no answer to either. The silence of 
that unjust man hurt me extremely, and did not con“ 
tribute to increase the very moderate good opinion I 
always had of his character and abilities. It was in this“ 


Cs24 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


manner that the managers kept my piece, while they 
deprived me of the price for which I had given it them. 
From the weak to the strong, such an act would be a 
theft; from the strong to the weak, it is only an appro- 
priation of another’s property. 

With respect to the pecuniary advantages of the work, 
although it did not produce me a fourth part of the sum 
it would have brought to any other person, they were 
considerable enough to enable me to subsist several 
vears, and to make amends for the 1ll-success of copying, 
which went on but very slowly. [I received a hundred 
louis from the King; fifty from Madame de Pompadour, 
for the performance at Bellevue, where she herself played 
the part of Colin; fifty from the Opéra; and five hundred 
francs from Pissot for the engraving; so that this inter- 
lude, which cost me no more than five or six weeks’ ap- 
plication, produced, notwithstanding the 1ll-treatment I 
received and my own stupidity, almost as much money 
as Ï have since obtained by my Emile, which had cost me 
twenty years’ meditation and three years’ labour. But 
I paid dearly for the pecuniary ease [ recerved from the 
piece, by the Infinite vexations it brought upon me. It was 
the germ of the secret jealousies which did not break out 
until a long time afterwards. After its success TI did not 
remark, either im Grimm, Diderot, or any of the men of 
letters with whom Î was acquainted, the same cordiality 
and frankness, nor that pleasure im seemg me, which I 
had previously experienced. The moment [ appeared at 
the Baron’s, the conversation was no longer general. 
The company divided into small parties, whispered into 
each other’s ears, and Ï remained alone, without know- 
mg to whom to address myself. I endured for a long 
time this mortifying neglect; and, percervimg that 
Madame d’Holbach, who was mild and amiable, still 
received me well, I bore with the vulgarity of her hus- 


C 53] 


THE ; CONFESSIONSNOR 


band as long as it was possible. But he one day attacked. 
me without reason or pretence, and with such brutality, 
in presence of Diderot, who said not a word, and Mar- 
gency, who since that time has often told me how much 
he admired the moderation and mildness of my answers, 
that, at length driven from his house by this unworthy 
treatment, Ï went away with a resolution never to enter 
it again. This did not, however, prevent me from always 
speaking honourably of him and his house, whilst he 
continually expressed himself relative to me in the most 
insulting terms, callmg me that petit cuistre, without, 
however, being able to charge me with having done either 
to himself or any person to whom he was attached the 
most triflimg injury. In this manner he verified my pre- 
dictions and fears. [I am of opinion that my pretended 
friends would have pardoned me for having written books, 
and even excellent ones, because this merit was not for- 
eign to themselves, but that they could not forgive my 
writing an opera, nor the brilliant success it had, because 
there was not one of them capable of entering the same 
path, nor im a situation to aspire to like honours. Duclos, 
the only person superior to this Jealousy, seemed to have 
become more attached to me. He introduced me to 
Mademoiselle Quimault, m whose house [ received polite 
attention and civility to as great an extreme as I had 
found the reverse in that of Monsieur d’Holbach. 

Whilst the performance of Le Denin du Village was 
continued at the Opera House, negotiations with its 
composer were opened — though less happily — at the 
Comédie Française. Not having, during seven or eight 
years, been able to get my Narcisse performed at the 
Italiens, T had, by the bad performance in French of 
the actors, become disgusted with it, and would rather 
have had my piece received at the Français than by them. 
Ï mentioned this to La Noue, the comedian, with whom 


C54] 


JBANEJACQUES ROUSSEAU 


I had become acquainted, and who, as everybody knows, 
was a man of merit and an author. He was pleased with 
the piece, and promised to get it performed without 
suffering the authors name to be known, and in the 
meantime procured me the freedom of the theatre, which 
was extremely agreeable to me, for I always preferred 
the Théâtre Français to the two others. The piece was 
favourably received, and without the authors name 
being mentioned; but I have reason to believe it was 
known to the actors and actresses, and many other per- 
sons. Mesdemoiselles Gaussin and Grandval played the 
amorous girls; and, although the whole performance, in 
my opinion, lacked intelligence, the piece could not be 
said to be absolutely 1ll played. Nevertheless, the in- 
dulgence of the public, for which I was grateful, surprised 
me; the audience had the patience to listen to it from be- 
ginning to end, and to endure a second representation 
without showing the least sign of disapprobation. For 
my part, Î was so wearied with the first that I could not 
hold out to the end; and leaving the theatre I went mto 
the Café de Procope, where I found Boissy and others of 
my acquaitance, who had probably been as much 
bored as myself. I there frankly cried peccavi, humbly or 
haughtily avowmg myself the author of the piece, and 
judging it as everybody else had done. This public 
avowal by the author of a bad piece was much admired, 
and was by no means painful to myself. My self-love, 
indeed, was flattered by the courage with which I made 
it, and Î am of opinion that on this occasion there was 
more pride im speaking than there would have been 
foolish shame in being silent. However, as it was certain 
the piece, although frigid in the performance, would bear 
to be read, I had it printed; and in the preface, which 
Ï account well written, | began to make my principles 
more public than I had hitherto done. 


C 55 ] 


THE: CON RHESSEONSRE 


I soon had an opportunity to explain them entirely im 
a work of the greatest importance; for it was, [ think, im 
this year 1753 that the programme of the Academy 
of Dijon upon the ‘Origin of Inequality amongst 
Mankind’ made its appearance. Struck with this great 
question, I was surprised that the Academy had dared to 
propose it; but, since it had shown sufhicient courage to 
doit, I thought I might well venture to treat it, and under- 
took the discussion. 

That I might meditate on this grand subject more at 
my ease, Ï went to Saint-Germain for seven or eight 
days with Thérèse; our hostess, who was a good kind of 
woman; and one of her female friends. I consider this 
walk as one of the most agreeable that [ ever took. The 
weather was very fine; these good women took upon 
themselves all the care and expense; Thérèse amused 
herself with them; and I, free from all domestic concerns, 
diverted myself, without restraint, at meal-times. AI 
the rest of the day, wandering im the forest, I sought for 
and found there the image of the primitive ages of which 
I boldly traced the history. [ confounded the pitiful lies 
of men; Î dared to unveil their nature; to follow the 
progress of time, and the things by which nature has 
been disfigured; and, comparing self-made man with 
natural man, to show him, in his pretended improvement, 
the real source of his miseries. My mind, elevated by 
these sublime contemplations, ascended to the Divinity, 
and thence, seemg my fellow-creatures follow in the blind 
track of their prejudices that of their errors, their mis- 
fortunes, and their crimes, Î exclaimed to them, in a 
feeble voice, which they could not hear: Madmen, who 
continually cry out against nature! know that all your 
evils proceed from yourselves! 

From these meditations resulted Le Discours sur - 
l’Inégalité, a work more to the taste of Diderot than any 


C 56] 


TEAN=JACQUES#ROUSSEAU 


of my other writings, and respecting which his advice 
was of the greatest service to me.! It was, however, 
understood by few readers throughout all Europe, and 
not one of these would ever speak of it. I had written it 
to become a competitor for the prize, but sent it away 
fully persuaded that it would not obtain it, well con- 
vinced that it was not for productions of this nature that 
the rewards of academies were founded. 

This excursion and this occupation enlived my spirits 
and were of service to my health. Several years before, 
tormented by my disorder, [ had given myself up entirely 
to the care of physicians, who, without alleviating my 
suflerings, exhausted my strength, and destroyed my 
constitution. Ât my return from Saint-Germain, I 
found myself stronger and perceived my health to be 
improved. Î[ followed this indication, and, determined 
to recover or die without the aid of physicians and medi- 
cine, Î bade them adieu for ever, and lived from day to 
day, keeping close when I found myself indisposed, and 
gomg abroad when I had sufficient strength. The manner 
of Irving in Paris amidst people of pretensions was so 
little to my likimg; the cabals of men of letters, their un- 
dignified quarrels, the little candour in their writimgs, 
and the air of importance they gave themselves in the 
world, were so odious, so opposite, to me; Î found so 
little mildness, openness of heart, and frankness in the 


1 At the time IÏ wrote this I had not the least suspicion of the grand 
conspiracy of Diderot and Grimm, otherwise I should easily have dis- 
covered how much the former abused my confidence, by giving to my 
writings that severity and moroseness which were not to be found in them 
from the moment he ceased to direct me. The passage of the philosopher 
who argues with himself, and stops his ears against the pleading of a man 
in distress, is after his manner; and he furnished me with others still 
more extraordinary, which I could never resolve to make use of. But, 
attributing this moroseness to the tone which he had acquired in the 
donjon of Vincennes, and of which there is a very sufficient dose in his 
Clairval, 1 never once suspected the least unfriendly dealing. — KR. 


C57] 


THE CONFESSTONSAOE 


intercourse even of my friends, that, disgusted with this 
life of tumult, I began ardently to long to reside in the 
country, and, perceiving that my occupation would not 
permit me to do it, Ï went to pass there all the time I 
had to spare. For several months Î went directly after 
dinner to walk alone in the Bois de Boulogne, meditating 
on subjects for future works, and not returnmg until 
evening. 


[1754-1756.] Gauflecourt, with whom [I was at that 
time extremely intimate, bemg on account of his em- 
ployment obliged to go to Geneva, proposed to me the 
journey, to which [I consented. The state of my health 
was such as to require the cares of the gouverneuse; it was 
therefore decided that she should accompany us, and that 
her mother should take charge of the house. After thus 
having made our arrangements, we set off all three on 
the 1st of June 1754. 

Ï must take particular note of this Journey as the 
epoch of the first experience which, until that time, when 
I was forty-two years of age, severely wounded the free 
and confiding nature with which I was born, and to which 
J had abandoned myself without reserve or mconvenience. 
We had an ordinary travellimg carriage, in which with 
the same horses we progressed by very short stages. I 
frequently got out and walked. We had scarcely per- 
formed half our Journey when Thérèse showed the greatest 
repugnance to being left m the carriage with Gauffecourt; 
and when, notwithstanding her remonstrances, I would. 
get out as usual, she insisted upon doing the same, and 
walkmg with me. I chided her for this caprice, and so 
strongly opposed it that at length she found herself 
obliged to declare to me the cause. I thought I wasim a 
dream, my astonishment was beyond expression, when 
[ learned that my friend Monsieur de Gauffecourt, up- 


C 58 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


wards of sixty years of age, crippled by the gout, impotent 
and exhausted by pleasures, had, since our departure, 
incessant[y endeavoured to corrupt a person who belonged 
to his friend, and was no longer young nor handsome, by 
the most base and shameful means, such as presenting 
to her a purse, attempting to inflame her imagination 
by the reading of an abomimable book, and by the sight 
of infamous pictures with which it was filled. Thérèse, full 


_of mdignation, once threw his scandalous book out of the 


carriage; and [I learned that, on the first evenimg of our 
journey, a violent headache having obliged me to retire to 
bed before supper, he had employed the whole time of this 


-tête-a-tête in actions more worthy of a satyr than a man 


of worth and honour, to whom I had entrusted my com- 


panion and myself. What astonishment and hitherto 
unfelt grief of heart for me! I, who until then had be- 
lieved friendship to be imseparable from every amiable 
and noble sentiment which constitutes all its charm, for 
the first time im my life found myself under the necessity 
of connecting it with disdain, and of withdrawing my 
confidence and esteem from a man for whom I had an 
affection, and by whom I imagined myself beloved! The 
wretch concealed from me his turpitude; and, that I 
might not expose Thérèse, [I was obliged to conceal from 
him my contempt, and secretly to harbour im my heart 
sentiments foreign to its nature. Sweet and sacred 
illusion of friendship! Gauffecourt first-took thy veil 
from before my eyes. What cruel hands have since that 
time prevented it from again bemg drawn over them! 

At Lyons I quitted Gauffecourt to take the road 
through Savoy, being unable again to be so near Mamma 
without seemmg her. ÎI saw her — good God, im what a 


situation! How contemptible! What remained to her 
Of primitive virtue? Was it the same Madame de Warens, 


formerly so gay and lively, to whom the Curé Pontverre 


C 59 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


had given me recommendations? How my heart was 
wounded! The only resource [ saw for her was to quit 
the country. I earnestly, but vainly, repeated the im- 
vitation I had several times given her in my letters to 
come and live peacefully with me, assuring her Î would 
dedicate the rest of my life, and that of Thérèse, to render 
hers happy. Attached to her pension, from which, 
although it was regularly paid, she had not for a long time 
received the least advantage, she would not listen to me. 
I again gave her a trifling part of the contents of my 
purse, much less than I ought to have done, and con- 
siderably less than I should have offered her had I not 
been certain of its not being of the least service to her- 
self. During my residence at Geneva she made a Journey 
into Chablais, and came to see me at Grange-Canal. She 
was in want of money to continue her Journey: what Î 
had in my pocket was insufficient to this purpose, but 
an hour afterwards I sent it her by Thérèse. Poor Mam- 
ma! Ï must relate this proof of the goodness of her heart. 
À little ring was the last jewel she had left. She took 1t 
from her finger to put it upon that of Thérèse, who 
instantly replaced it upon that whence it had been taken, 
kissing the generous hand which she bathed with her 
tears. Ah! this was the proper moment to discharge my 
debt! I should have abandoned everythmg to follow 
her, and share her fate, let it be what it would, till death: 
I did nothing of the kind. Engaged by another attach- 
ment, Î found my sentiments towards her abated by the 
slender hopes that remained of being useful to her. 4 
sighed after her, but I did not follow her. Of all the re- 
morse 1 ever felt, this was the strongest and most last: 
ing. Ï merited thereby the terrible chastisements with 
which I have since that time been incessantly over: 
whelmed: may these have expiated my ingratitude! Of 
this I appear guilty in my conduct but my heart has been 


C60 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


too much torn by what I did ever to have been that of an 
imgrate. 

— Before my departure from Paris I had sketched out the 
dedication of my Discours sur l’Inégalité. I finished it at 
Chambéri, and dated it from that place, thinking that, 
to avoid all chicanery, it was better not to date it either 
from France or Geneva. When I[ arrived in that city I 
abandoned myself to the republican enthusiasm which 
had brought me to it. This was augmented by the re- 
ception [ there met with. Treated with extreme kind- 
ness by persons of every description, Î gave myself up 
entirely to patriotic zeal, and, mortified at being ex- 
cluded from the rights of a citizen by the profession of a 
religion different from that of my forefathers, I resolved 
openly to return to the latter. I thought that the Gos- 
pel bemg the same for every Christian, and the only dif- 
ference in religious opinions the result of the explana- 
tions given by men to that which they did not under- 
stand, it was the exclusive right of the sovereign power in 
every country to fix the mode of worship, and these 
unintelligible dogmas; and that consequently it was the 
duty of a citizen to admit the one and conform to the 
Other in the manner prescribed by the law. Conversa- 
tion with the Encyclopædists, far from staggering my 
faith, gave it new strength by my natural aversion to 
disputes and party. The study of man and the universe 
had everywhere shown me the final causes and the wis- 
dom by which they were directed. The reading of the- 
Bible, and especially of the New Testament, to which I 
had for several years past applied myself, had given me 
a sovereign contempt for the base and stupid mterpre- 
tations given to the words of Jesus Christ by persons the 
least worthy of understanding Him. In a word, phi- 
losophy, while it attached me to the essential part of re- 
ligion, had detached me from the trash of the little formu- 


| C6: ] 





THE! CONFESSIONS 


laries with which men had obscured it. Judging that for 
a reasonable man there were not two ways of being a 
Christian, 1 was also of opinion that in each country 
everything relative to form and discipline was within 
the jurisdiction of the laws. From this principle, so social 
and pacific, and which has brought upon me such cruel 
persecutions, it followed that, desiring to be a citizen, 
Ï must become a Protestant, and conform anew to the 
mode of worship established im my country. This I 
resolved upon; I moreover put myself under the instruc- 
tions of the pastor of the parish in which I lived, and 
which was without the city. AÏI I desired was not to 
appear at the Consistory. However, the ecclesiastical 
edict was expressly to that effect; but it was agreed 
upon to dispense with it in my favour, and a commission 
of five or six members was named to receive in private 
my profession of faith. Unfortunately the Minister 
Perdriau, a mild and an amiable man, with whom I was 
on friendly terms, took it into his head to tell me the 
members were rejoiced at the thoughts of hearimg me 
speak in the little assembly. This expectation alarmed 
me to such a degree that, having during three weeks 
studied night and day a little discourse that I had pre- 
pared, Î was so confused when I ought to have pro- 
nounced it that [I could not utter a single word, and 
durmg the conference I had the appearance of the most 
stupid schoolboy. The persons deputed spoke for me, 
and Î answered yes and no, like a blockhead; I was 
afterwards admitted to the communion, and reinstated 
in my rights as a citizen. I was enrolled as such in the 
list of guards, paid by none but citizens and burgesses, 
and Î attended at a counail-general extraordinary to 
receive the oath from the Syndic Mussard. I was so 
impressed with the kindness shown me on this occa- 
sion by the Council and the Consistory, and by the 


C62] 


PJEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


great civility and obligmg behaviour of the magistrates, 
ministers, and citizens, that, pressed by the worthy 
Deluc, who was imcessant in his persuasions, and still 
more so by my own inclination, I did not think of going 
back to Paris for any other purpose than to break up 
housekeeping, settle my little affairs, find a situation for 
Monsieur and Madame Le Vasseur, or provide for their 
subsistence, and then return with Thérèse to Geneva, 
there to reside for the rest of my days. 

After taking this resolution, Î suspended all serious 
affairs, the better to enjoy the company of my friends 
until the time of my departure. Of all the amusements 
of which I partook, that with which I was most pleased 
was sailing round the lake in a boat, with Deluc the 
father, his daughter-in-law, his two sons, and my Thérèse. 
We gave seven days to this excursion, in the finest weather 


possible. [ preserved a lively remembrance of the sites | 
which struck me at the other extremity of the lake, and | 


ee reparer” 


of which, some years afterwards, I gave a description in 


La Nouvelle Héloïse. 

The principal acquaintances I made at Geneva, besides 
the Delucs, of whom I have spoken, were the young 
Minister Vernes, with whom I had already been ac- 
quainted at Paris, and of whom I then formed a better 
Opinion than I afterwards had of him; Monsieur Perd- 
riau, then a country pastor, now professor of literature, 
whose mild and agreeable society will ever make me re- 
gret the loss of it, although he has since thought it good 
manners to detach himself from me; Monsieur Jalabert, 
at that time professor of physics, since become coun- 
sellor and syndic, to whom I read my Discours sur l’In- 
QE — but not the dedication — with which he seemed 
‘to be delighted; the Professor Lullin, with whom I 
 maintained a correspondence until his death, and who 
‘gave me a commission to purchase books for the college 


| C63] 


THE *CONRESSRONERES 


library; the Professor Vernet, who, like most other 
people, turned his back upon me after [ had given him 
proofs of attachment and confidence, of which he ought 
to have been sensible, 1f a theologran can be sensible of 
anything; Chappuis, clerk and successor to Gaufte- 
court, whom he wished to supplant, and who, soon 
afterwards, was himself supplanted; Marcet de Mézières, 
an old friend of my father, and who had shown himself 
to be mine, but who, after having well deserved of his 
country, became a dramatic author, and, pretending to 
a place m the Council of Two Hundred, changed his 
principles and became ridiculous before he died. But he 
from whom I expected most was Moultou, a very promis- 
ing young man by his talents and his brilliant intellect, 
whom I have always loved, although his conduct with 
respect to me was frequently equivocal, and notwith- 
standing his being connected with my most cruel enemies, 
yet whom I cannot but look upon as destined to become 
the defender of my memory and the avenger of his 
friend. 

In the midst of these dissipations Î neither lost the 
taste for my solitary excursions nor the practice of them: 
I frequently made long ones upon the banks of the lake, 
during which my mind, accustomed to reflection, did 
not remain idle. I digested the plan already formed of 
my Institutions Politiques, of which I shall shortly have 
to speak. [I meditated a Histoire du Valais; the plan of 
a tragedy in prose, the subject of which, nothing less 
than Lucretia, did not deprive me of the hope of turning 
the laugh against my detractors, although I should dare 
again to exhibit that unfortunate heroine, when she 
could no longer be suffered upon any French stage. I at 
that time tried my abilities with Tacitus, and trans- 
lated the first book of his history, which will be found 


amongst my papers. 
C64] 





— D. cr Et 
a —— 


—— 0 — —— 


PEAN-JACQUES," ROUSSEAU 


After a residence of four months at Geneva, I returned 
in the month of October to Paris, and avoided passing 
through Lyons, that [I might not again have to travel 
with Gauffecourt. As the arrangements I had made did 
not require my being in Geneva until the following spring, 
I returned, during the winter, to my habits and occupa- 
tions. The principal of the latter was examimimg the 
proof-sheets of my Discours sur l’Inégalité, which I had 
procured to be printed in Holland, by the bookseller Rey, 
with whom I had just become acquainted at Geneva. 
This work was dedicated to the Republic; but as the 
dedication might be unpleasing to the Council, I wished 
to ascertain its effect at Geneva before I returned thither. 
This was not favourable to me; and the dedication, which 
the purest patriotism had dictated, only created me 
enemies in the Council, and mspired many of the bur- 
_gesses with jealousy. Monsieur Chouet, at that time 
First Syndic, wrote me a polite but very cold letter, 
which will be found amongst my papers, packet A, No. 3. 
Î received from private persons, amongst others from 
Deluc and De Jalabert, a few compliments, and these 
were all. I did not perceive that a single Genevese was 
honestly pleased with the hearty zeal found im the work. 
This mdifference shocked all those by whom it was 
remarked. I remember that, dining one day at Clichy, 
at Madame Dupin’s, with Crommelin, Resident from 
the Republic, and Monsieur de Maïran, the latter openly 
declared the Council owed me a present and public 
honours for the work, and that it would dishonour itself 
“fit failed im either. Crommelin, who was a dark-com- 
_ plexioned and mischievous little man, dared not reply 
in my presence, but he made à frightful grimace, which 
drew a smile from Madame Dupin. The only advantage 
this work procured me, besides that resulting from the 
satisfaction of my own heart, was the title of citizen 


C65 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


given me by my friends, afterwards by the public after 
their example, and which I afterwards lost by having too 
well deserved 1t.! 

This ill success would not have prevented my retiring 
to Geneva, had not more powerful motives tended to the 
same effect. Monsieur d’Épinay, wishing to add a wing 
which was wanting to the Château Chevrette, was at an 
immense expense in completing it. Having gone one 
day with Madame d’Épinay to see the progress of the 
work, we continued our walk a quarter of a league further, 
to the reservoir of the waters of the park, which joined 
the Forest of Montmorency, and where there was a 
handsome kitchen garden with a little Iodge, much out of 
repair, called the Hermitage. This solitary and very 
agreeable place had strück me when I saw it for the first 
time before my journey to Geneva. I had exclaimed in 
my transport: ‘Ah, madame, what a delightful habrta- 
tion! This asylum was purposely designed for me.” 

Madame d’Épinay did not seem to pay much attention 
to what I said, but in this second journey I was quite 
surprised to find, instead of the old decayed building, à 
small house almost entirely new, well laid out, and very 
habitable for a little family of three persons. Madame 
d'Épinay had caused this to be done in silence, and at a 
very small expense, by detaching a few materials and 
some of the workmen from the château. She now 
said to me, on remarking my surprise: ‘My good bear, 
here behold your shelter: it is you who have chosen it; 
friendship offers it to you. [I hope this will remove from 
you the cruel idea of separating from me.” I do not think 
Ï was ever in my life more strongly or more deliciously 
affected. I bathed with tears the beneficent hand of my 
friend; and if [ was not conquered from that very instant, 
I was extremely staggered. Madame d’Épinay, who 

1 After the condemnation of Émile. 


C66 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


would not be denied, became so pressing, employed so 
many means, so many people, to circumvent me, pro- 
ceeding even so far as to gain over Madame Le Vasseur 
and her daughter, that at length she triumphed over my 
resolutions. Renouncing the idea of residing in my own 
country, I resolved, I promised, to mhabit the Hermitage; 
and, whilst the building was drying, Madame d’Épinay 
took care to prepare furniture, so that everything was 
ready for occupation im the following spring. 

One thing which greatly aided me in determining was 
the residence that Voltaire had chosen near Geneva. 
Ï foresaw that this man would cause a revolution there, 
and that ÏÎ should find in my country the style and 
manners which drove me from Paris; that I should be 
under the necessity of incessantly struggling, and have 
no other alternative than that of being an insupportable 
pedant, or a bad and cowardly citizen. The letter which 
Voltaire had written to me on my last work induced me 
to insinuate my fears in my answer, and the effect this 
produced confirmed them. From that moment I con- 
sidered Geneva as lost, and I was not deceived. I per- 
haps ought to have breasted the storm, had [I thought , 
myself capable. But what could I have done alone, | 
timid and speaking badly, against a man who was 
arrogant, opulent, supported by the credit of the great, 
eloquent, and already the idol of the women and young 
men? I was afraid of uselessly exposimg myself to danger 
to no purpose. Î listened to nothimg but my peaceful 
disposition, to my love of repose, which if it then deceived 
me still continues to deceive me on the same subject. 
By retiring to Geneva I should have avoided great mis- 
fortunes, but I have my doubts whether, with all my 
ardent and patriotic zeal, I should have been able to 
effect anything great and useful for my country. 

Tronchin, who about the same time went to reside at 


671] 


THE: CON FESSTEIONSMONR 


Geneva, came afterwards to Paris to play the mounte- 
bank, and brought back treasures. On his arrival he 
came to see me, with the Chevalier de Jaucourt. Madame 
d'Épinay had a strong desire to consult him in private, 
but so busy was he that this was not easily effected. 
She addressed herself to me, and [ engaged Tronchim 
to go and see her. Thus under my auspices they began 
a connection, which was afterwards strengthened at my 
expense. Such has ever been my destiny: the moment 
I had united two friends, who were separately mime, 
they never failed to combine against me. Although, 
in the conspiracy then formed by the Tronchins for the 
subjection of their country, they must all have borne 
me a mortal hatred, the doctor still continued friendly 
to me: he even wrote me a letter after his return to 
Geneva, to propose to me the place of honorary librarian. 
But I had taken my resolution, and the offer did not 
tempt me to depart from it. 

About this time [ again visited Monsieur d’'Holbach. 
My visit was occasioned by the death of his wife, which, 
as well as that of Madame Francueil, happened whilst 
ÏI was at Geneva. Diderot, when he communicated to 
me these events, spoke of the deep affliction of the 
husband. His grief affected my heart. Î[ myself was 
grieved for the loss of that excellent woman, and wrote 
to Monsieur d'Holbach a letter of condolence. I forgot 
all the wrongs he had done me, and at my return from 
Geneva, and after he had made the tour of France with 
Grimm and other friends to alleviate his affliction, Ï 
went to see him, and continued my visits until my 
departure for the Hermitage. As soon as it was known 
in his circle that Madame d’Epinay was preparing me 
a habitation there, imnumerable sarcasms, founded upon 
the want I must feel of the flattery and amusements of 
the city, and the supposition of my not being able to 


CL 68 ] 


HÉAN=JACQUEST"ROUSSEAU 


support the solitude for a fortnight, were uttered against 
me. Feeling within myself how I stood affected, I left 
him and his friends to say what they pleased, and pur- 
sued my intention. Monsieur d’'Holbach rendered me 
some services ! in finding a place for the old Le Vasseur, 
who was eighty years of age, and a burden to his wife, 
from which she begged me to relieve her. He was put 
imto a house of charity, where, almost as soon as he 
arrived, age and the grief of finding himself removed 
from his family sent him to the grave. His wife and all 
his children, except Thérèse, did not much regret his 
loss; but she, who loved him tenderly, has ever since 
been inconsolable, and never forgiven herself for having 
suffered him, at so advanced an age, to end his days in 
any other house than her own. 

Much about the same time I received a visit I little 
expected, although it was from a very old acquaintance. 
My friend Venture, accompanied by another man, came 
upon me one morning by surprise. What a change did I 
discover in his person! Instead of his former graceful- 
ness, he appeared sottish and vulgar, which made me 
extremeiy reserved with him. Either my eyes decerved 
me, or debauchery had stupeñed his mind, or all his 
first splendour was the effect of his youth which was 
past. Î saw him almost with indifference, and we parted 
- rather coolly. But when he was gone the remembrance 
of our former connection so strongly brought back the 
recollection of my younger days, so charmingly, so 
prudently dedicated to that angelic woman, who was 


1 Thisis an instance of the treachery of my memory. A long time after 
Ï had written the above, I learned, in conversing with my wife concern- 
ing her poor old father, that it was not Monsieur d'Holbach, but Monsieur 
de Chenonceaux, then one of the administrators of the Hôtel-Dieu, who 
procured this asylum for him. I had so totally forgotten the circumstances, 
and the idea of Monsieur d’'Holbach’s having done it was so strong in 
my mind, that I would have sworn it had been the latter. — KR. 


C 69 ] 


THE !CONFESSIIONSEMON 


not much less changed than himself; the little anecdotes 
of that happy time, the romantic day of Toune passed 
with so much innocence and enjoyment in the company 
of those two charming girls, from whom a kiss of the 
hand was the only favour, and which, notwithstanding 
its being so trifling, had left me such lively, affecting, 
and lasting regrets — all the ravishmg delirium of a 
young heart, which I had just felt in all its force, and 
of which I had thought the season for ever past for 
me — the tender remembrance of these delightful cir- 
cumstances made me shed tears over my faded youth 
and its transports for ever lost to me. Ah! how many 
tears should I have shed over their tardy and fatal 
return, had Ï foreseen the evils I had yet to suffer from 
them! 

Before I left Paris, I enjoyed during the winter which 
preceded my retreat a pleasure after my own heart, and 
of which I tasted in all its purity. Palissot, Academician 
of Nancy, known by a few dramatic compositions, had 
just had one of them performed at Lunéville before the 
King of Poland. He perhaps thought to make his court 
by representing in his piece a man who had dared to 
enter into a literary dispute with the King. Stanislaus, 
who was generous, and did not like satire, was filled with 
mdignation at the author’s daring to be personal in his 
presence. The Comte de Tressan, by order of the prince, 
wrote to D’Alembert, as well as to myself, to inform me 
that it was the mtention of his Majesty to have Palissot 
expelled from his Academy. My answer was a strong 
solicitation in favour of Palissot, beggimg Monsieur de 
Tressan to intercede with the King m his behalf. His 
pardon was granted, and M. de Tressan, when he com- 
municated to me the information in the name of the 
monarch, added that the matter should be inserted in 
the register of the Academy. I replied that this was less 


C70 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


granting a pardon than perpetuating a punishment. At 
length, after repeated solicitations, [ obtained a promise 
that nothing relative to the affair should be inserted in 
the register, and that no public trace should remain of it. 
The promise was accompanied, as well on the part of the 
King as on that of M. de Tressan, with assurances of 
esteem and respect, with which [ was extremely flattered; 
and I felt on this occasion that the esteem of men who 
are themselves worthy of it produces im the mind a senti- 
ment infinitely more noble and pleasing than that of 
vanity. J have transcribed into my collection the letters 
of M. de Tressan, with my answers to them; and the 
originals of the former will be found in packet A, Nos. 0, 
10, and II. 

Ï am perfectly aware that if ever these memoirs become 
public Ï myself here perpetuate the remembrance of a 
fact of which I would wish to efface every trace; but I 
transmit many others as much against my imclination. 
The grand object of my undertaking, constantly before 
my eyes, and the indispensable duty of fulfilling it to its 
utmost extent, will not permit me to be turned aside by 
triflmg considerations, which would lead me from my 
purpose. În my strange and unparalleled situation I 
owe too much to truth to be further than this indebted to 
any person whatever. They who wish to know me well 
must be acquamted with me in every point of view, in 
every relative situation, both good and bad. My con- 
fessions are necessarily connected with those of many 
other people: [ write both with the same frankness in 
everything that relates to that which has befallen me, 
believing that I am not obliged to spare any person more 
than myself, although it is my wish to do it. I am de- 
termined always to be just and true, to say of others all 
the good ÎI can, never speakimg of evil except when it 
relates to my own conduct, and there is a necessity for 


C71] 


CONFESSIONS OF JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSE'AU 


my so doing. Who, in the situation im which the world 
has placed me, has a right to require more at my hands? 
My confessions are not intended to appear during my 
lifetime, nor that of those whom they may affect. Were 
I master of my own destiny, and that of the book I am 
now writing, It should not be made public until long after 
my death and theirs. But the efforts which the dread of 
truth obliges my powerful enemies to make to destroy 
every trace of it render it necessary for me to do every- 
thing which the strictest right and the most severe justice 
will permit to preserve what [ have written. Were the 
remembrance of me to be lost at my dissolution, rather 
than expose any person alive, I would, without a murmur, 
suffer an unjust and momentary reproach; but since my 
name 1s to live, it is my duty to endeavour to transmit 
with it to posterity the remembrance of the unfortunate 
man by whom it was borne, such as he really was, and 
not such as his unjust enemies incessantiÿ endeavoured 
to describe bim. | 


C7 


BOOK IX 


[1756] 
M: impatience to inhabit the Hermitage not permit- 


” ting me to await the return of fine weather, the mo- 
ment my lodging was prepared I hastened to take 
possession of it, to the great amusement of the ‘Coterie 
Holbachique, which publicly predicted I should not be 
able to support solitude for three months, and that I 
should return disappointed to Paris, and live there as 
they did. For my part, having for fifteen years been out 
of my element, finding myself upon the eve of returning 
to it, Î paid no attention to their pleasantries. Since, 
contrary to my inclinations, ÎÏ had again entered the 
world, I had incessantly regretted my dear Charmettes, 
and the agreeable life I led there. IT felt a natural in- 
clination to retirement and the country: it was impos- 
sible for me to live happily elsewhere. At Venice, in the 
train of public affairs, placed im a kind of reflected dig- 
nity, in the pride of projects of advancement; at Paris, im 
the vortex of the great world, im the luxury of suppers, in 
the brilliancy of spectacles, in the rays of false glory — 
my groves, rivulets, and solitary walks constantly pre- 
sented themselves to my recollection, imterrupted my 
thoughts, rendered me melancholy, and made me sigh 
with desire. AI the labour to which I had subjected my- 
self, every project of ambition which by fits had animated 
my ardour, all had for object this happy country retire- 
ment, which [ now thought near at hand. Without hav- 
ing acquired that moderate imdependence which I had 


Lt 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


judged to be the only means of accomplishing my views, 
[ imagined myself, in my particular situation, to be able 
to do without it, and that I could attain the same end by 
means quite opposite. [ had no regular income, but I 
possessed some talents, and had acquired a name. My 
wants were few, and I had freed myself from all those 
which were most expensive, and which merely depended 
on prejudice and opinion. Besides this, although natu- 
rally indolent, I was laborious when I chose to be so, and 
my idleness was less that of an imdolent man than that 
of an independent one who applies to business when 1t 
pleases him. My profession of a copyist of music was 
neither splendid nor lucrative, but it was certain. The 
world gave me credit for the courage I had shown im 
making choice of it. [ might depend upon having 
sufficient employment to enable me to live. Two thou- 
sand francs which remained of the produce of Le Denn 
du Village, and my other writimgs, were a sum which kept 
me from being straitened, and several works I had upon 
the stocks promised me, without extortimg money from the 
booksellers, supplies sufficient to enable me to work at my 
ease without exhausting myself, even by turning to ad- 
vantage the Leisure of my walks. My little family, con- 
sisting of three persons, all of whom were usefully em- 
ployed, was not expensive to support. Finally, from my 
resources, proportioned to my wants and desires, Î might 
reasonably expect a happy and permanent existence in 
that manner of life which my mclination had imduced me 
to adopt. 

[ might have taken the mterested side of the question, 
and, mstead of subjectimg my pen to copying, entirely 
devoted it to works which, from the elevation to which 
Ï had soared, and at which I found myself capable of 
contmuimg, might have enabled me to live in the midst 
of abundance, nay, even of opulence, had I been the least 


C 74] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


disposed to join the manœuvres of an author to the care 
of publishing a good book. But I felt that writing for 
bread would soon have stifled my genius and destroyed 
my talents, which were less in my pen than in my heart, 
and solely proceeded from an elevated and noble manner 
of thinkimg, by which alone they could be cherished and 
preserved. Nothing vigorous nor great can come of a 
pen totally venal. Necessity, nay even avarice, perhaps, 
would have made me write rather rapidly than well. If 
the desire of success had not led me into cabals, it might 
have inclmed me to publish works pleasing to the multi- 
tude rather than such as were true and useful, and in- 
stead of a distinguished author, which I might possibly 
become, I should have been nothing more than a scribbler. 
No; I have always felt that the profession of letters was 
illustrious in proportion as it was less a trade. Tt is too 
difficult to think nobly when we think for a livelihood. 
To be able — to dare even — to speak great truths, an 
author must be independent of success. I gave my books 
to the public with a certamty of having written for the 
common good, without the least concern for what was to 
follow. If the work was thrown aside, so much the worse 
for such as did not choose to profit by it. Their approba- 
tion was not necessary to enable me to live; my profes- 
sion was sufficient to maintain me had not my works had 
a sale, for which reason imdeed they all sold. 

It was on the oth of April 1756 that I Left cities, never 
to reside in them again; for I do not call a residence the 
few days I afterwards spent in Paris, London, or other 
cities, always on the wing, or contrary to my inclinations. 
Madame d’Épinay came and took us all three in her 
coach; her farmer carted away my small baggage, and 
Î was put into possession the same day. I found my little 
retreat simply furnished, but neatly, and even with some 
taste. The hand which had lent its aid in this furnishing 


C75] 


THE CONFESSION SES 


rendered it inestimable in my eyes, and Ï thought it 
charming to be the guest of my female friend in a house. 
of my own choice, which she had caused to be built pur- 
posely for me. 

Although the weather was cold, and the ground lightly 
covered with snow, the earth began to vegetate: violets 
and primroses already made their appearance, the trees 
began to bud, and the evening of my arrival was dis- 
tinguished by the first song of the nightingale, which was 
heard almost under my window, in a wood adjomimg the 
house. After a light sleep, forgetting when [ awoke my 
change of abode, I still thought myself in the Rue de 
Grenelle, when suddenly this warbling gave me a start, 
and I exclaimed in my transport: ‘At length all my 
wishes are accomplished!” The first thmg I did was to 
abandon myself to the impression of the rural objects 
with which I was surrounded. Instead of beginning to 
set things in order in my new habitation, 1 began by 
planning future walks; and there was not a path, a copse, 
a grove, nor a corner in the environs of my place of resi- 
dence that I had not visited by the next day. The more 
Ï examimed this charming retreat, the more [ found it to 
my wishes. This solitary, rather than savage, spot 
transported me in idea to the end of the earth. It had 
strikmg beauties which are but seldom found near cities; 
and never, if suddenly transported thither, could any 
person have imagined himself within four leagues of 
Paris. 

After abandoning myself for a few days to this rural 
delirrum, I began to arrange my papers and regulate my 
occupations. Î set apart, as [ had always done, my 
mornings to copying and my afternoons to walking, pro- 
vided with my little note-book and a pencil, for never 
havmg been able to write and think at my ease except 
sub dio, I had no inclination to depart from this method; 


CL 76 ] 


2 JBAN=-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


and Î was persuaded that the Forest of Montmorency, 
which was almost at my door, would in future be my closet 
and study. [I had several works begun; these I cast my 
eye over. My mind was sufhiciently fertile in great pro- 
jects, but in the bustle of the city the execution of them 
had gone on but slowly. I proposed to myself to use 
more diligence when I should be less interrupted. I am 
of opinion that I have fairly fulfilled this mtention, and 
for a man frequently 1ll, often at La Chevrette, at Epmay, 
at Faubonne, at the Château de Montmorency, at other 
times interrupted by the indolent and curious, and always 
employed half the day m copying, 1f what [| produced 
durmg the six years Î passed at the Hermitage and at 
Montmorency be considered, [ am persuaded it will 
appear that if im this mterval I lost my time it was not 
in idleness. | 

Of the different works I had upon the stocks, that 
which I had longest revolved in my mind, which was 
most to my taste, to which Î would willmgly have de- 
voted my life, and which, im my opinion, was to confrrm 
the reputation I had acquired, was my Institutions Poli- 
tiques. I had, thirteen or fourteen years before, when at 
Venice, where I had an opportunity of remarking the 
defects of that much-vaunted government, conceived the 
first idea of them. Since that time my views had become 
much more extended by the historical study of morality. 
Ï had perceived everything to be radically connected 
with politics, and that, upon whatever principles these 
were founded, a people would never be other than the 
nature of their government made them; therefore the 
great question of the best government possible appeared 
to me to be reduced to this: What is the kind of govern- 
ment fitted to form the most virtuous, enlightened, 
wisest, and, in a word, best people, taking the last epithet 
in its most extensive meaning? Î thought this question 


77] 


THE :CONFESSEIONSHON 


nearly allied to, even if different from, that which follows: 
What government is that which, by its nature, is always 
in closest relation to the law? Hence, what is law? — 
and a series of questions of similar importance. Î per- 
ceived that these led to great truths, useful to the happi- 
ness of mankind, but more especially to that of my 
country, wherein, in the Journey [ had just made to it, I 
had not found notions of laws and liberty sufficiently 
just or clear. I had thought this indirect manner of com- 
municating these to my fellow-citizens would be least 
mortifying to their pride, and might obtam me forgive- 
ness for having seen a little further than themselves. 
Although I had already laboured some five or six years 
at the work, the progress I had made im it was not 
considerable. Writings of this kind require meditation,. 
leisure, and tranquillity. I had besides written the one 
in question, as the expression 1s, en bonne fortune, and 
had not communicated my project to any person, not 
even to Diderot. Î was afraid it would be thought too 
darimg for the age and country in which [ wrote, and that 
the fears of my friends would embarrass me in complet- 
mgit.! Ï did not yet know, too, that it would be finished 
in time, and im such a manner as to appear before my 
decease. I wished fearlessiy to give to my subject every- 
thing it required, fully persuaded that, not being of a 
satirical turn, and never wishing to be personal, I should 
in equity always be judged irreprehensible. I undoubt- 
edly wished fully to enjoy the right of thinking which L 


1 It was more especially the wise severity of Duclos which inspired 
me with this fear; as for Diderot, I know not by what means all my con: 
ferences with him tended to make me more satirical and bitter than my 
natural disposition inclined me to be. This prevented me from con 
sulting him upon an undertaking in which I wished to introduce nothing 
but the force of reasoning without the least appearance of ill-humour or 
partiality. The manner of this work may be judged of by that of the 
Contrat Social, which is taken from it. — KR. 


C78] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


had by birth; but still respecting the government under 
which I lived, without ever disobeying its laws; and, 
very attentive not to violate mdividual rights, [ would 
not from fear renounce their advantages. 

I confess even that, as a stranger, and living in France, 
Ï found the situation very favourable for one who dared 
to speak the truth; well knowing that continuimg, as I 
was determined to do, not to print anything in the king- 
dom without permission, Î was not obliged to give to any 
person in It an account of my maxims nor of their publica- 
tion elsewhere. I should have been less independent even 
at Geneva, where, in whatever place my books might 
have been printed, the magistrate had a right to criti- 
cise their contents. This consideration had greatly con- 
tributed to make me yield to the solicitations of Madame 
d'Epimay, and abandon the project of frxmg my residence 
at Geneva. I felt, as I have remarked in Emile, that un- 
less an author be a man of mtrigue, when he wishes to 
render his works really useful to any country, he must 
not compose them within her bounds. 

What made me find my situation still more happy was 
my being persuaded that the government of France 
would, perhaps, without looking upon me with a very 
favourable eye, make it a point of honour to protect me, 
or at least not to disturb my tranquillity. It appeared to 
me a stroke of simple yet dexterous policy, to make a 
merit of tolerating that which there was no means of pre- 
ventimg; since, had I been driven from France, which was 
all authority had the right to do, my work would still 
have been written, and, perhaps, with less reserve; where- 


_ as, if Ï were left undisturbed, the author remained to 


me — nr 


answer for what he wrote, and a prejudice, deeply rooted 
throughout Europe, would be destroyed im acquiring the 
reputation of observing an enlightened respect for per- 
sonal rights. 

C79] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


They who, by the event, shall judge [ was decerved 
may perhaps be deceiving themselves. In the storm 
which has since broken over my head, my books served 
as a pretext, but it was against my person that they aimed. 
They gave themselves little concern about the author, 
but they wished to ruin Jean-Jacques; and the greatest 
evil they found in my writings was the honour they might 
possibly do me. Let us not encroach upon the future. 
[ do not know that this mystery, which is still one to me, 
will hereafter be cleared up to my readers; I only know 
this, that had my avowed principles been of a nature to 
bring upon me the treatment I received, I should sooner 
have become their victim, since the work ! in which these 
principles are manifested with most courage, not to call 
it audacity, seemed to have had its effect previous to my 
retreat to the Hermitage, without — I will not only say 
my having received the least censure, but without any 
steps having been taken to prevent its publication in 
France, where it was sold as publicly as im Holland. La 
Nouvelle Héloïse afterwards appeared with the same 
facility — I dare add, with the same applause; and, what 
seems almost incredible, the profession of faith of this 
same Héloïse at the point of death is exactly similar to 
that of the Savoyard Vicar. Every bold assertion in the 
Contrat Social had been before published im the Discours 
sur l’Inégalité; and every bold opinion in Emile had been 
previously stated in Julie. This unrestrained freedom 
did not excite any murmur against the two first works; 
therefore it was not that which gave cause to it against 
the latter. 

Another undertaking much of the same kind, but of 
which the project was more recent, then especially en- 
gaged my attention: this was the extract from the works 
of the Abbé de Saint-Pierre, of which, having been led 


1 Le Discours sur l’Inégalité des Conditions. 


C 80 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


away by the thread of my narrative, I have not hitherto 
been able to speak. The idea had been suggested to me, 
after my return from Geneva, by the Abbé de Mably, 
not immediately from himself, but by the interposition 
of Madame Dupin, who had some interest in engaging 
me to adoptit. She was one of the three or four pretty 
women of Paris of whom the old Abbé de Saint-Pierre 
had been the spoiled child, and, although she had not 
decidedly had the preference, she had at least partaken 
of it with Madame d’Aïguillon. She preserved for the 
memory of the good man a respect and an affection which 
did honour to them both; and her self-love would have 
been flattered by seeing the still-born works of her friend 
brought to life by her secretary. These works certainly 
contained excellent things, but so badly told that the 
reading of them was nearly msupportable; and it is as- 
tonishimg that the Abbé de Saint-Pierre, who looked 
upon his readers as big children, should nevertheless have 
spoken to them as men, by the little care he took to in- 
duce them to give him a hearing. It was for this purpose 
that the work was proposed to me as useful in itself, and 
very proper for a man laborious im compilation and ar- 
rangement, but idle as an author, who, finding the trouble 
of thinking very fatiguing, preferred, in things which 
pleased him, throwing a light upon and extending the 
ideas of others to producing any himself. Besides, not 
being confined to the functions of a translator, I was at 
liberty sometimes to think for myself; and I had it in my 
power to give such a form to my work that many impor- 
tant truths would pass in it under the name of the Abbé 
de Saint-Pierre, much more safely than under mine. 
The undertaking also was not trifling; the business was 
nothing less than to read, reflect upon, and make extracts 
from twenty-three volumes, diffuse, confused, full of 
long narrations and periods, repetitions, and false or 


C8] 


THE CONRESSTONSRNE 


narrow views, from amongst which it was necessary to 
select some few that were great and useful, and suff- 
ciently encouraging to enable me to support the painful 
labour. I frequently wished to resign it, and should have 
done so could I have got it off my hands with a good 
grace: but when I received the Abbé’s manuscripts, which 
were given me by his nephew, the Comte de Saint-Pierre, 
at the solicitation of Saint-Lambert, Î in some measure 
undertook to make use of them, which I must either have 
done, or have given them back. It was with the former 
intention [ had taken the manuscripts to the Hermitage, 
and this was the first work to which I proposed to 
dedicate my leisure hours. 

Ï had likewise m my own mind projected a third, the 
idea of which [ owed to the observations [ had made upon 
myself, and [ felt the more disposed to undertake this 
work as I had reason to hope I could make it a truly use- 
ful one, and perhaps the most so of any that could be 
offered to the world, were the execution equal to the plan 
I had laid down. It has been remarked that most men 
are in the course of their lives frequently unlike them- 
selves, and seem to be transformed mto others very dif- 
ferent from what they were. Ît was not to establish a 
thing so generally known that [ wished to write a book; 
J had a newer and more important object. This was to 
search for the causes of these variations, and, by con- 
finmg my observations to those which depend on our- 
selves, to demonstrate in what manner it might be pos-* 
sible to direct them, in order to render us better and more 
certain of our dispositions. For it is undoubtedly more 
painful to an honest man to resist desires already formed, 
which it is his duty to subdue, than to prevent, change, 
or modify the same desires in their source, were he ca- 
pable of tracing them to it. À man under temptation 
resists at one time because he has strength of mind; he 


[82 | 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


yields at another because he is weak; had he been the 
same as before he would again have triumphed. 

By examinimg within myself, and searching im others 
what could be the cause of these different manners of 
being, I discovered that, in a great measure, they de- 
pended on the anterior impression of external objects; 
and that, contimually modified by our senses and organs, 
we, without knowing it, bore in our ideas, sentiments, 
and even actions, the effect of these modifications. The 
striking and numerous observations [ had collected were 
beyond all dispute, and by their natural principle seemed 
proper to furnish an exterior regimen, which, varied ac- 
cording to circeumstances, might place and support the 
mind in the state most favourable to virtue. From how 
many mistakes would reason be preserved, how many 
vices would be stifled in their birth, were it possible to 
force animal economy to favour moral order, which it so 
frequently disturbs! Climates, seasons, sounds, colours, 
light, darkness, the elements, food, noise, silence, motion, 
rest, all act on the animal machine, and consequently on 
the mind; all offer us a thousand means, almost certain 
of directing im their origin the sentiments by which we 
suffer ourselves to be governed. Such was the funda- 
mental idea of which I had already made a sketch upon 
paper, and whence Ï hoped for an effect the more certain, 
in favour of persons naturally well disposed, who, sin- 
cerely loving virtue, were afraid of their own weakness, 
as it appeared to me easy to make of it a book as agree- 
able to read as it was to compose. I have, however, ap- 
plied myself but very little to this work, the title of which 
was La Morale Sensitive; ou, le Matérialisme du Sage. 
Interruptions, the cause of which will soon appear, pre- 
vented me from continuing it, and the fate of the sketch, 
which is more connected with my own than it may ap- 
pear to be, will hereafter be seen. 


C 83 ] 


THE: CON FESSEONSSE 


Beyond this, I had for some time meditated a system 
of education, of which Madame de Chenonceaux, alarmed 
for her son by that of her husband, had desired me to 
consider. The authority of friendship placed this object, 
although less in itself to my taste, nearer to my heart 
than any other, on which account this subject, of all those 
of which I have just spoken, 1s the only one I carried to 
its utmost extent. The end I proposed to myself in treat- 
ing of it should, I think, have procured the author a 
better fate. But [ will not here anticipate this melan- 
choly subject. [I shall have too much reason to speak of 
it in the course of my work. 

These different objects offered me subjects of medita- 
tion for my walks; for, as I believe I have already ob- 
served, Î can only reflect when walking: the moment I 
stop, Ï thmk no more; my head and feet must work to- 
gether. À had, however, provided myself with a work for 
the_closet upon rainy days. This was my Dictionnaire 
de Musique, which my scattered, mutilated, and unshapen 
materials made it necessary to rewrite almost entirely. 
I had with me some books necessary to this purpose; [I 
had spent two months in makimg extracts from others, 
which I had borrowed from the Bibliothèque du Roi, 
whence [ was permitted to take several to the Hermitage. 
Ï was thus provided with materials for composing in my 
apartment when the weather did not permit me to go 
out, and my copying fatigued me. This arrangement was 
so convenient that Î| made it turn to advantage as well 
at the Hermitage as at Montmorency, and afterwards 
even at Motiers, where [ completed the work whilst I 
was engaged on others, and constantly found a change of 
occupation to be a real relaxation. 

During a considerable time [I exactly followed the dis- 
tribution [ had prescribed myself, and found it very 
agreeable; but as soon as the fine weather brought 


C 84] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


Madame d’Épinay more frequently to Épinay, or to La 
Chevrette, I found that attentions in the first instance 
natural to me, but which I had not considered in my 
scheme, seriously deranged my projects. [ have already 
observed that Madame d’Epmay had many amiable 
qualities; she sincerely loved her friends, served them 
with zeal, and, not sparing for them either time or pains, 
certainly deserved on their part every attention in return. 
J had hitherto area this duty without considerinmg 
it as one; but at length I found that I had given myself 
a chain of which nothing but friendship prevented me 
from feeling the weight, and this was aggravated by my 
dislike to numerous societies. Madame d’Épinay took 
advantage of these circumstances to make a proposition 
seemimgly agreeable to me, but which was more so to 
herself; this was to let me know when she was alone, or 
had but little company. I consented, without perceiv- 
img to what a degree I engaged myself. The consequence 
was that I no longer visited her at my own hour but at 
hers, and that Î never was certain of being master of 
myself for a day together. This constraint considerably 
diminished the pleasure I had m going to see her. I 
found the liberty she had so earnestly promised was 
given me upon no other condition than that of my never 
enjoying it; and once or twice when I wished to do this 
there were so many messages, notes, and alarms relative 
to my health, that Î percerved I could have no excuse but 
bemg confined to my bed for not immediately running to 
her upon the first imtimation. It was necessary I should 
submit to this yoke, and I did it, even more voluntarily 
than could be expected from so great an enemy to de- 
pendence: the simcere attachment I had to Madame 
d’ Épinay preventing me, in a great measure, from feel- 
ing the inconvenience with which it was accompanied. 
She thus filled up, well or ill, the void which the absence 


C 85 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS" OF 


of her usual circle left in her amusements. This for her 
was but a very slender supplement, although preferable 
to absolute solitude, which she could not support. She 
had nevertheless the means of doing it much more readily 
since she had begun to dabble in literature, and had taken 
it into her head to write at random novels, letters, come- 
dies, tales, and other trash of the same kind. But she 
was not so much amused in writing these as in reading 
them; and she never scribbled over two or three pages at 
one sitting without being previously assured of having 
at least two or three benevolent auditors at the end of 
so much labour. Î seldom had the honour of bemng one 
of the chosen few, except by favour of another. When 
alone, Ï was, for the most part, considered as a cipher Im 
everything; and this not only in the company of Madame 
d'Épinay, but in that of Monsieur d’Holbach, and im 
every place where Grimm gave the tone. This nullity 
was very convenient to me, except in a tête-à-tête, when I 
knew not what countenance to put on, not daring to 
speak of literature, of which it was not for me to say a 
word; nor of gallantry, being too timid, and fearing more 
than death the ridicule due to an old gallant; besides 
that I never had such an idea when in the company of 
Madame d’Épinay, and that it would perhaps never have 
occurred to me, had I passed my whole life with her: not 
that her person was in the least disagreeable to me; on 
the contrary, I loved her perhaps too much as a friend to 
do it as a lover. I felt a pleasure in seerng and speaking 
to her. Her conversation, although agreeable enough im 
a mixed company, was uninteresting in private; mine, 
not more florid than her own, was no great amusement 
to her. Ashamed of being long silent, [| endeavoured to 
enliven the interview; and, although this frequently 
fatigued me, Î never felt bored by it. [ was happy to 
show her little attentions, and gave her little fraternal 


C 86 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


kisses, which seemed not to be more sensual to herself: 
these were all. She was very thin, very pale, and had a 
bosom as flat as my hand. This defect alone would have 
been sufficient to cool my desires; neither my heart nor 
my senses could ever regard as a woman a female with- 
out breasts; besides, other causes useless to mention al- 
ways made me forget the sex of this lady. 

Having resolved to conform to a subservience which 
was necessary, | immediately and voluntarily did so, 
and for the first year at least found it less burdensome 
than I could have expected. Madame d’Epinay, who com- 
monly passed almost the whole summer m the country, 
continued there but a part of this; whether she was more 
detained by her affairs at Paris, or that the absence of 
Grimm rendered the residence of La Chevrette less agree- 
able to her, I know not. I took the advantage of the inter- 
vals of her absence, or when the company with her was 
numerous, to enjoy my solitude with my good Thérèse 
and her mother, in such a manner as to taste all its 
charms. Although I had for several years past been 
frequently in the country, I seldom had enjoyed much of 
its pleasures; and those excursions, always made im com- 
pany with people who considered themselves as persons 
of consequence, and rendered insipid by constraint, 
served to increase in me the natural desire I had for rustic 
pleasures. The want of these was thé more sensible to 
-me“as"khad the image of them immediately before my 
eyes. [ was so tired of saloons, fountains, groves, par- 
terres, and of the more tiresome persons by whom they 
were shown; so exhausted with pamphlets, harpsichords, 
cards, unravellings of plots, stupid bons-mots, imsipid 
affectations, pitiful story-tellers, and great suppers, that 
when I gave a side-glance at a poor simple hawthorn 
bush, a hedge, a barn, or a meadow, when in passing 
through a hamlet I scented a good chervil omelette, and 


C 87 


THE CONFESSIONS 


heard at a distance the burden of the rustic song of the 
Bisquières, I wished all rouge, furbelows, and amber at | 
the devil, and envying the dinner of the good housewife, 
and the wine of her own vineyard, I heartily wished to 
give a slap on the chaps to monsieur le chef and mon- 
sieur le maître, who made me dine at the hour of supper, 
and sup when I should have been asleep, but especially 
to messieurs the lackeys, who devoured with their eyes 
the morsel Ï put imto my mouth, and upon pain of my 
dymg with thirst sold me the adulterated wine of their 
master, ten times dearer than that of a better quality 
would have cost me at a tavern. 

Behold me then at length at home, in an agreeable and 
solitary asylum, at liberty to pass there the remainder of 
my days, in that peaceful, equal, and mdependent life 
for which I felt myself born. Before I relate the effects 
which this situation, so new to me, had upon my heart, 
it 1s proper that I should recapitulate its secret affections, 
that the reader may better follow im their causes the 
progress of these new modifications. 

(1 have always considered the day on which I was united 
to Thérèse as that which fixed my moral existence. : An 
attachment was necessary for me, since that which should 
have sufficed me had been so cruelly broken. The thirst 
Mamma was advancing into years, and dishonoured her- 
self! I had proofs that she could never more be happy 
here below; it therefore remained for me to seek my own 
bappmess, having lost all hopes of sharing hers. I was 
sometimes irresolute, and fluctuated from one idea to 
another, and from project to project. My journey to 
Venice would have thrown me into public life, had the 
man with whom I was unluckily connected had common 
sense. Î was easily discouraged, especially in undertak- 
ings of length and difficulty. The ill success of this dis- 


C 88 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


 gusted me with every other; and, according to my old 
 maxims, considering distant objects as deceitful allure- 
ments, Î resolved thenceforth to live only from day to 
day, seemg nothing in life which could tempt me to make 
extraordinary efforts. 

It was precisely at this time that we became acquainted. 
The mild character of this good girl seemed so fitted to 
my own that [I united myself to her with an attachment 
which neither time nor imJuries have been able to impair, 
and which has constantly been increased by whatever 
might have been expected to sever it. The force of this 
sentiment will hereafter appear when I come to speak of 
the grievous wounds she has given my heart in the depth 
of my misery, without my having, up to the moment 
when I write this, ever uttered one word of complaint to 
any person. 

When it shall be known that, after having done every- 
thing, braved everything, to avoid separation from her, 
that after passimg with her twenty-five years, in despite 
of fate and men, I have in my old age made her my wife, 
without the least expectation or solicitation on her part, 
or promise or engagement on mine, the world will think 
that love borderimg upon madness, having from the first 
moment turned my head, led me by degrees to the last 
act of extravagance; and this will be the more strongly 
believed when the urgent and particular reasons which 
should for ever have prevented me taking such a step 
are made known. What, therefore, will the reader think 
when I shall have told him, with all the truth with which 
he ought now to credit me, that, from the first moment 
in which I saw her until this day, [ have never felt the 
least spark of love for her, that I never desired to possess 
her more than Î did to possess Madame de Warens, and 
that the physical wants which were satisfied with her 
Mn for me, solely those of the sex, and by no 


D— C8] 


THE CONFESSTONSARE 


means proper to the individual? He will thimk that, 
being of a constitution different from that of other men, 
I was incapable of love, since this was not one of the 
sentiments which attached me to women the most dear 
to my heart. Patience, my dear reader! the fatal mo- 
ment approaches in which you will be but too much 
undeceived. 

J fall into repetitions; I know it; it must be so. The 
first of my wants, the greatest, strongest, and most in- 
extinguishable, was wholly in my heart — the want of an 
intimate connection, and as intimate as it could possibly 
be. For this reason especially a woman was more neces- 
sary to me than a man, a female rather than a male friend. 
This simgular want was such that the closest corporal 
union was not sufficient: two souls would have been 
necessary to me in the same body, without which [I al- 
ways felt a void. I thought I was upon the point of ceas- 
img to feel it. This young person, amiable by a thousand 
excellent qualities, and at that time by her form, without 
the shadow of art or coquetry, would have confined with- 
in herself my whole existence, could hers, as I had hoped 
it would, have been totally confined to me. I had noth- 
img to fear from men; Î am certain of being the only man 
she ever really loved, and her moderate passions seldom- 
wanted another, not even after [ ceased in this respect 
to be one to her. I had no family: she had one; and this 
family composed of individuals whose dispositions were 
so different from hers, I could never make my own. This 
was the first cause of my unhappiness. What would I not 
have given to have been the child of her mother? I did 
everything in my power to become so, but could never 
succeed. Î in vain attempted to unite all our interests: 
this was impossible. She always created herself one dif 
ferent from mine, contrary to it, and even to that of her 
daughter, which already was no longer separated from it: 


C 90 ] 


TAAN=ACQUES" ROUSSEAU 


She, her other children and grandchildren, became so 
many leeches, and the least evil these did to Thérèse was 
robbing her. The poor girl, accustomed to submit, even 
to her nieces, suffered herself to be pilfered and governed 
without saying a word; and I perceived with grief that 
by exhausting my purse, and giving her advice, I did 
nothing that could be of any real advantage to her. 1 
endeavoured to detach her from her mother, but she con- 
stantly resisted such a proposal. I respected her resist- 
ance, and esteemed her the more for it; but her refusal 
was not on this account less to the prejudice of us both. 
Abandoned to her mother and the rest of her family, she 
belonged to them rather than to me — rather, indeed, 
than to herself. Their greed was less ruinous than their 
advice was pernicious to her; in fact, if, on account of 
the love she had for me, added to her good natural dis- 
position, she was not quite their slave, she was enough so 
to hinder in a great measure the effect of the good maxims 
ÎÏ endeavoured to instil into her; this was a sufficient 
cause, notwithstanding all my efforts, to prevent our 
being ever truly united. 

Thus was it that, notwithstandimg a simcere and re- 
ciprocal attachment, im which I had lavished all the 
tenderness of my heart, the void in that heart was never 
completely filled. Children, by whom this effect should 
have been produced, were brought into the world, but 
these only made things worse. I trembled at the thought 
of intrusting them to this 1ll-bred family, to be still worse 
educated. The risk of the education of the Enfants- 
Trouvés was much less. This reason for the resolution I 
took, much stronger than all those Î stated in my letter 
to Madame de Francueil, was, however, the only one 
with which I dared not make her acquainted; I chose 
rather to appear less excusable than expose to reproach 
the family of a person I loved. But by the conduct of 


Cor] 


THE CONFESSTITONSHUE= 


her wretched brother, notwithstanding all that can be 
said in his defence, it will be judged whether I ought to 
have exposed my children to an education similar to his. 

Not having it in my power to taste in all its plenitude 
the charms of that intimate connection of which I felt 
the want, I sought for substitutes, which did not fill up 
the void, though they made it Less sensible. Not having 
a friend entirely devoted to me, I wanted others whose 
impulse should overcome my indolence. For this reason 
Ï cultivated and strengthened my relations with Diderot 
and the Abbé de Condillac, formed with Grimm a new 
one still more intimate, till at length, by the unfortu- 
nate Discourse of which I have related some particulars, 
[ unexpectedly found myself thrown back into litera- 
ture, which I thought I had quitted for ever. 

My first steps conducted me by a new path to another 
intellectual world, the simple and noble economy of 
which Î cannot contemplate without enthusiasm. Î re- 
flected so much on the subject that [ soon saw nothing 
but error and folly in the doctrine of our sages, and op- 
pression and misery in our social order. In the illusion of 
my foolish pride I thought myself capable of destroying 
all imposture; and thinking that, to make myself listened 
to, it was necessary that my conduct should agree with 
my principles, Î adopted the singular manner of life 
which I have not been permitted to continue, the ex- 
ample of which my pretended friends have never for- 
given me, which at first made me ridiculous, and would 
at length have rendered me worthy of respect, had it 
been possible for me to persevere. 

Until then I had been good; from that moment [I be- 
came virtuous, or at least infatuated with virtue. This 
infatuation had begun in my head, but afterwards passed 
into my heart. The most noble pride there took root 
amongst the ruins of extirpated vanity. I affected noth: 


C2] 


LAN =TACQUESY"ROUSSE'AU 


img: 1 became what [ appeared to be; and during four 
years at least, whilst this effervescence continued at its 
greatest height, there is nothing great and good that can 
enter the heart of man of which I was not capable be- 
tween heaven and myself. Hence flowed my sudden 
eloquence; hence, in my first writings, that fire really 
celestial which consumed me, and whence during forty 
years not a single spark had escaped, because it was not 
yet lighted up. 

I was really transformed; my friends and acquaintance 
scarcely knew me. [I was no longer that timid and rather 
bashful than modest man who neither dared to present 
himself nor utter a word, whom a single pleasantry dis- 
concerted, and who blushed at the glance of a woman'’s 
eyes. I became bold, haughty, intrepid, with a confi- 
dence the more firm as it was simple, which resided in 
my soul rather than m my manner. The contempt with 
which my profound meditations had inspired me for the 
manners, maxims, and prejudices of the age m which I 
lived rendered me proof against the raillery of those by 
whom they were possessed, and I crushed their little 
pleasantries with a sentence, as [| would have crushed an 
insect in my fingers. What a change! AIT Paris repeated 
the severe and acute sarcasms of the same man who, two 
years before and ten years afterwards, knew not how to 
find what he had to say, nor the word he ought to employ. 
Let the situation im the world the most contrary to my 
natural disposition be sought after, and this will be found. 
Let one of the short moments of my life im which I became 
another man, and ceased to be myself, be recollected — 

this also will be found in the time of which I speak; but, 
. instead of continuing only six days, or six weeks, it lasted 
almost six years, and would perhaps still continue but for 
| the particular circumstances which caused it to cease, and 
 restored me to nature, above which I had wished to soar. 


L93 | 
| 
| 


THE CONFESSIONSMOR 


The beginning of this change took place as soon as Î 
had quitted Paris, and the sight of the vices of that city 
no longer fed the imdignation with which it had inspired 
me. ÎI no sooner had lost sight of men than [I ceased to 
despise them; when I no longer beheld the wicked, I 
ceased to hate them. My heart, little fitted for hatred, 
pitied their misery, and even their wickedness. This 
situation, more pleasing but less sublime, soon allayed 
the ardent enthusiasm by which I had so long been trans- 
ported, and [ insensibly, almost to myself even, again 
became fearful, complaisant, and timid — in a word, the 
same Jean-Jacques I before had been. 

Had this revolution gone no further than restoring me 
to myself, all would have been well; but, unfortunately, 
it rapidly carried me away to the other extreme. From 
that moment my mind im agitation passed the line of 
repose, and its oscillations, contimually renewed, have 
never permitted it to remaim here. Î must enter into 
some detail of this second revolution — terrible and fatal 
era of a lot unparalleled amongst mortals. | 

We were but three persons im our retirement; it was 
therefore natural that our intimacy should be increased 
by leisure and solitude. This was the case between 
Thérèse and myself. We passed together im the shade 
the most charming and delightful hours, more so than any 
T had hitherto enjoyed. She seemed to taste of this sweet 
intercourse more than I had until then observed her to do: 
she opened her heart and communicated to me relative 
to her mother and family things she had had resolution 
enough to conceal for a great length of time. Both had 
received from Madame Dupin numerous presents, be- 
stowed on my account, and intended for me, but which 
the cunning old woman, to prevent my being angry, had 
appropriated to her own use and that of her other children, 
without suffermg Thérèse to have the least share, strongly 


C94 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


forbidding her to say a word to me of the matter — an 
order which the poor girl had obeyed with an incredible 
exactness. 

But another thing which surprised me much more than 
this was the discovery that, besides the private conversa- 
tions that Diderot and Grimm had frequently had with 
both to endeavour to detach them from me, in which, ow- 
ing to the resistance of Thérèse, they had not been able 
to succeed, they had afterwards had frequent secret con- 
ferences with the mother, the daughter being quite igno- 
rant of what was brewing between them. However, she 
knew little presents had been made, and that there were 
mysterious goings and comings, the motive of which was 
entirely unknown to her. When we left Paris, Madame 
Le Vasseur had long been in the habit of going to see 
Grimm twice or thrice a month, and continuing with him 
for hours together, in conversation so secret that the ser- 
vant was always sent out of the room. 

[ judged this motive to be of the same nature with the 
project into which they had attempted to make the daugh- 
ter enter, by promising to procure her and her mother, by 
means of Madame d’Épinay, a salt-huckster’s licence, or 
a snuff-shop; in a word, by tempting her with the allure- 
ments of gain. They had been told that, as I was not in 
a situation to do anything for them, I could not, on their 
account, do anything for myself. As in all this I saw 
nothing but good intentions, Ï was not absolutely dis- 
pleased with them for it. The mystery was the only thing 
Which gave me pain, especially on the part of the old 
Woman, who, moreover, daily became more parasitical 
and flatterimg towards me. This, however, did not pre- 
ivent her from reproaching her daughter in private with 
telling me everything, and loving me too much, observ- 
| ng that she was à fool, and would at length be made a 


Jupe. 
Co5 ] 


re. mt ‘TE 


—— 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


This woman possessed, to a supreme degree, the art of 
multiplying the presents made her, by concealing from 
one what she received from another, and from me what 
she received from all. I could have pardoned her avarice, 
but it was impossible I should forgive her dissimulation. 
What could she have to conceal from me, whose happi- 
ness she knew principally consisted in that of herself and 
her daughter? What I had done for the daughter I had 
done for myself, but the services I rendered her mother 
merited, on her part, some acknowledgment. She ought, 
at least, to have thought herself obliged for them to her 
daughter, and to have loved me for the sake of her by 
whom I was already beloved. I had raised her from the 
lowest state of wretchedness; she received from my hands 
the means of subsistence, and was indebted to me for her 
acquaintance with the persons from whom she reaped so 
much benefit. Thérèse had long supported her by her 
industry, and now maintained her with my bread. She 
owed everything to this daughter, for whom she had done 
nothing; and her other children, to whom she had given 
marriage portions, and on whose account she had ruined 
herself, far from giving her the least aïd, devoured her 
substance and mine. I thought that, in such a situation, 
she ought to consider me as her only friend and most sure 
protector, and that, far from making of my own affairs a 
secret to me, and conspiring against me in my own house, 
it was her duty faithfully to acquaint me with everything 
in which I was interested, when this came to her knowl- 
edge before it did to mine. In what light, therefore, could 
I consider her false and mysterious conduct? What could 
I think of the sentiments with which she endeavoured to 
inspire her daughter? What monstrous ingratitude was 
this, to endeavour to instil it into her! 

These reflections at length alienated my affections 
from this woman to such a degree that I could no longer 


C6] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


look upon her but with contempt. I, nevertheless, con- 
tinued to treat with respect the mother of my dear com- 
panion, and in everything to show her almost the rever- 
ence of a son; but [ must confess I could not remain long 
with her without pain, and that I never knew how to bear 
constraint. 
This is another short moment of my life m which I ap- 
proached near to happiness without bemg able to attain 
it, and this by no fault of my own. Had this woman been 
of a good disposition, we all three should have been happy 
to the end of our days: the longest liver only would have 
been to be pitied. Instead of which, the reader will see 
the course things took, and Judge whether or not it was im 
my power to change it. 
Madame Le Vasseur, who perceived I had got entire 
possession of the heart of her daughter, and that she had 
lost ground with her, endeavoured to regain it; and, 
instead of striving to restore herself to my good opinion 
through her, attempted to alienate her altogether from 
me. One of the means she employed was to call her 
family to her aid. I had begged Thérèse not to invite 
any of them to the Hermitage, and she had promised me 
she would not. They were sent for im my absence, with- 
out consulting her, and she was afterwards prevailed 
upon to promise not to say anything of the matter. After 
the first step was taken all the rest were easy. When 
once we make a secret of anything to the person we love, 
we soon make little scruple of doing it m everything. 
The moment I was at La Chevrette the Hermitage was 
full of people, who sufficiently amused themselves. A 
| mother has always great power over a daughter of a mild 
| disposition; yet, notwithstanding all the old woman could 

do, she was never able to prevail upon Thérèse to enter 
\into her views, nor to persuade her to join the league 
against me. For her part, she resolved upon doing it for 


C 97 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


ever; and seeing on one side her daughter and myself, 
who were in a situation to live, and that was all; on the 
other Diderot, Grimm, d’Holbach, and Madame d’Epi- 
nay, who promised great things, and gave some little ones, 
she could not conceive it was possible to be im the wrong 
with the wife of a farmer-general and of a baron. Had I 
been more clear-sighted, [I should, from this moment, 
have perceived that [ nourished a serpent in my bosom. 
But my blind confidence, which nothimg had yet dimin- 
ished, was such that [I could not imagine how one could 
wish to injure the person one oughtto love. Though I 
saw numerous conspiracies forming on every side, all I 
complained of was the tyranny of persons who called 
themselves my friends, and who, as it seemed, would 
force me to be happy in their way, and not in mine. 
Although Thérèse refused to join in the confederacy 
with her mother, she afterwards kept the secret. For 
this her motive was commendable; [ will not determine 
whether she did well or ill. Two women who have secrets 
between them love to prattle together: this attracted 
them towards each other, and Thérèse, by dividing her- 
self, sometimes let me feel Î was alone, for I could no 
longer consider as a society that which we all three 
formed. [ now felt the neglect I had been guilty of dur- 
img the first years of our connection in not taking advan- 
tage of the docility with which her love inspired her to 
improve her talents and give her knowledge, which, by 
more closely connecting us in our retirement, would agree- 
ably have filled up her time and my own, without once 
sufferimg us to perceive the length of a private conversa= 
tion. Not that this was ever exhausted between us, of 
that she showed weariness or lack of interest during our 
walks; but we had not a sufficient number of ideas com: 
mon to both to make ourselves a great store, and we 
could not incessantly talk of our future projects, which 


C 98 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


were confined to those of enjoying the pleasures of life. 
The objects around us inspired me with reflections beyond 
the reach of her comprehension. An attachment of twelve 
years’ standing had no longer need for words; we were 
too well acquainted with each other to have any new 
knowledge to acquire in that respect. The resource of 
puns, jests, gossiping, and scandal was all that remained. 
In solitude especially 1s it that the advantage of living 
with a person who knows how to think is particularly 
felt. [ wanted not this resource to amuse myself 
with her; but she would have stood in need of it to 
have always found amusement with me. The worst 
of all was our being obliged to hold our conversations 
when we could: her mother, who became importunate, 
obliged me to watch for opportunities to doit. TÎ was 
under constraint in my own house: this is saying every- 
thing; the air of love was prejudicial to good friend- 
ship. We had an mtimate mtercourse without living 
in intimacy. 

The moment I thought I perceived that Thérèse some- 
times sought for a pretext to elude the walks I proposed 
to her I ceased to invite her to accompany me, without 
bemg displeased with her for not finding in them so much 
amusement as Î did. Pleasure is not a thing which de- 
pends upon the will. IÎ was sure of her heart, and that 
was all Ï desired. As long as my pleasures were hers, Ï 
tasted of them with her: when this ceased to be the case, 
Ï preferred her contentment to my own. 

In this manner it was that, half deceived in my expec- 
tation, leading a life after my own heart, in a residence Î 
had chosen with a person who was dear to me, I at length 
found myself almost alone. What I still wanted pre- 
vented me from enjoying what I had. With respect to 

_ happiness and enjoyment, everything or nothing was 
what was necessary to me. The reason of these observa- 


Co9] 


THE CONFESSIONS 


tions will hereafter appear. At present I return to the 
… thread of my narrative. 

7 ['imagined that I possessed treasures in the manuscripts 
given me by the Comte de Saint-Pierre. On examination, 
I found they were little more than the collection of the 
printed works of his uncle, with notes and corrections by 
his own hand, and a few other trifling fragments, which 
had not yet been published. I confirmed myself, by these 
moral writimgs, Im the idea I had conceived from some of 
his letters, shown me by Madame de Créqui, that he had 
a better understanding than at first [ had imagined; but, 
after a careful examination of his political works, I dis- 
cerned nothing but superficial notions, and projects that 
were useful but impracticable, in consequence of the idea 
from which the author never could depart, that men con- 
ducted themselves by their enlightenment rather than 
by their passions. The high opinion he had of the knowl- 
edge of the moderns had made him adopt this false prin- 
ciple of perfected reason, the basis of all the institutions 
he proposed, and the source of his political sophisms. 
This extraordinary man — an honour to the age in which 
he lived, and to the human species, and perhaps the only 
person since the creation of mankind whose sole passion 
was devotion to reason — wandered nevertheless, in all 
his systems, from error to error, by attempting to make 
men like himself, instead of taking them as they were, 
are, and will continue to be. He laboured for imagmary 
bemmgs, while he thought himself employed for the bene- 
fit of his contemporaries. 

AIT these things considered, Î was rather embarrassed 
as to the form [I should give to my work. To suffer the 
author’s visions to pass was doing nothing useful; fully 
to refute them would have been impolite, as the charge 
of his manuscripts, which I had accepted, and even re- 
quested, imposed on me the obligations of treating the 


[ 100 | 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


author honourably. [I at length concluded upon that 
which to me appeared the most decent, judicious, and 
useful. This was to give separately my own ideas and 
those of the author, and, for this purpose, to enter into 
his views, to set them in the best light, to amplify and 
extend them, and spare nothing which might contribute 
to present them in all their excellence. 

My work, therefore, was to be composed of two parts 
absolutely distinct: one, to explain, in the manner I have 
just mentioned, the different projects of the author; in 
the other, which was not to appear until the first had had 
its effect, 1 should have given my opinion upon these 
projects, which [ confess might have sometimes exposed 
them to the fate of the sonnet in Le Misantbrope. At the 
head of the whole was to have been the life of the author, 
for which I had collected some good materials, and I 
flattered myself that I should not spoil them in the task. 
Ï had seen 2 little of the Abbé de Saint-Pierre in his old 
age, and the veneration [ had for his memory warranted 
me, upon the whole, that the Comte would not be dis- 
satisfied with the manner in which I should treat his 
relation. 

Ï made my first essay on La Paix Perpétuelle, the 
greatest and most elaborate of all the works which com- 
posed the collection; and before I abandoned myself to 
my reflections Î had the courage to read everything the 
abbé had written upon this fine subject without once 
suffermg myself to be repelled either by his long periods 
or repetitions. The public have seen the extract, on 
which account [I have no more to say. My opinion of it 
has no been printed, nor do I know that it ever will be; 
however, it was written at the time the extract was made. 
From this I passed to La Polysynodie, or plurality of 
councils, a work written under the Regent to favour the 
administration he had chosen, and which caused the 


[ 101 ] 


THE »:CONFESSEFONSRRNE 


Abbé de Saint-Pierre to be expelled from the Academy on 
account of some remarks, unfavourable to the precedmg 
administration, with which the Duchesse du Maine and 
Cardinal de Polignac were irritated. I[ completed this 
work, as I did the former, with an extract and remarks; 
but I stopped here without desiring to continue the under- 
taking, which I ought never to have begun. 

The reflection which mduced me to give it up naturally 
presents itself, and it was astonishing I had not made it 
sooner. Most of the writimgs of the Abbé de Saint-Pierre 
were either observations, or contained observations, on 
certain parts of the government of France; and several 
of these were of so free a nature that it was happy for 
him he had made them with impunity. But in the offices 
of the ministers of state the Abbé de Saint-Pierre had 
ever been considered as a kind of preacher rather than a 
real politician, and he was suffered to say what he pleased, 
because it seemed clear that nobody listened to him. Had 
Ï procured him readers the case would have been differ- 
ent. He was a Frenchman, and Î was not one; and by 
repeating his censures, although in his own name, [ ex- 
posed myself to be asked, rather rudely, but without in- 
justice, what [ meddled with. Happily, before proceed- 
ing any further [ perceived the hold I was about to give 
the government against me, and [I immediately withdrew. 
[ knew that, living alone in the midst of men, and men 
more powerful than myself, [ never could by any means 
whatever be sheltered from the mjury they might choose 
to do me. There was but one thmg which depended on 
my own efforts: this was to observe such a line of con- 
duct that whenever they chose to injure me they could 
not do it without bemg unjust. This maxim, which in- 
duced me to abandon the Abbé de Saint-Pierre, has fre- 
quently made me give up projects that I had much more 
at heart. These folk, who are always ready to construe 


[ 102 | 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


adversity into a crime, would be much surprised were they 
to know the pains I have taken durimg my life that im my 
misfortunes it might never with truth be said of me: 
‘Thou hast well deserved them.” 

This task abandoned, I remained some time uncertain 
as to the work which should succeed it, and this interval 
of mactivity was destructive by permitting me to turn my 
reflections on myself, for want of another object to en- 
gage my attention. [I had no project for the future which 
could amuse my imagination. Ît was not even possible 
to form any, as my situation was precisely that in which 
all my desires were united. I had not another to conceive, 
and yet there was a void im my heart. This state was 
the more cruel, as Ï saw no other which was to be pre- 
ferred to it. I had concentrated my most tender affec- 
tions upon a person after my own heart, who made me a 
complete return of her own. 

I [ived with her without constraint, and, so to speak, 
at discretion. Notwithstanding this, a secret grief of 
mind never quitted me for a moment, either when she 
was present or absent. [In possessing Thérèse, I still per- 
ceived that happiness was incomplete; and the sole idea 
of my not being everything to her had such an effect upon 
my mind that she was next to nothing to me. 

Ï had friends of both sexes, to whom I was attached by 
the purest friendship and most perfect esteem. TI de- 
pended upon a real return on their part, and a doubt of 
their sincerity never entered my mind; yet this friend- 
ship was more tormenting than agreeable to me by their 
obstinate perseverance, and even their affectation im op- 
posing my tastes, inclinations, and manner of hving; and 
this to such a degree, that the moment I seemed to desire 
a thing which interested myself only, and depended not 
upon them, they immediately joined their efforts to 
oblige me to renounce it. This continued desire to con- 


C103] 


THE ' CONFESSIONS NOr 


trol me in all my wishes — the more unjust as I did not 
so much as make myself acquainted with theirs — became 
so cruelly oppressive that at length [ never received one 
of their letters without feeling, as ÎÏ opened it, a certain 
terror which was but too well justified by the contents. 
I thought being treated as a child by persons younger 
than myself, and who themselves stood in great need of 
the advice they so prodigally bestowed on me, was too 
much. ‘Love me,’ said I to them, ‘as I love you, but 
beyond this meddle no farther im my affairs than I do in 
yours; this is all I ask” If they granted me one of these 
two requests, it was not the latter. 

I had a retired residence in a charming solitude, was 
master of my own house, and could live in it in the man- 
ner I thought proper without beimg controlled by any 
person; yet this habitation imposed on me duties agree- 
able to discharge, but indispensable. AÏl my liberty was 
but precarious; in a greater state of subjection than a 
person at the command of another, it was my duty to be 
so by mclination. When I arose in the morning Ï never 
could say to myself, [ will employ this day as I think 
proper. And, moreover, besides my being subject to 
obey the call of Madame d’'Epmay, Î was exposed to the 
still more disagreeable importunities of the public and 
chance comers. The distance from Paris did not prevent 
groups of idlers, not knowing how to spend their time, 
from daily breaking in upon me, and without the least 
scruple freely disposing of mine. When I least expected 
visitors [| was unmercifully assailed by them, and I 
seldom made a plan for the agreeable employment of the 
day that was not overturned by the arrival of some 
person. 

In short, finding no real enjoyment in the midst of the 
pleasures [ had been most desirous to obtain, I, by sudden 
mental transitions, returned in imagination to the serene 


C 104 ] 


IÉANSIACQUESL ROUSSEAU 


days of my youth, and sometimes exclaimed with a sigh: 
‘Ah! this 1s not Les Charmettes!? 

The recollection of the different periods of my life led 
me to reflect upon that at which [I was arrived, and I 
found myself already on the decline, a prey to painful 
disorders, and imagined I was approaching the end of my 
days, without having tasted, im all its plenitude, scarcely 
one of the pleasures after which my heart had so much 
thirsted, or given scope to the lively sentiments that I 
felt I had in reserve. I had not savoured even that 
intoxicatimg voluptuousness with which my mind was 
richly stored, and which, for want of an object, was always 
compressed and never exhaled but by sighs. 

How was it possible that, with a mind naturally ex- 
pansive, [, to whom life meant love, should not hitherto 
have found a friend entirely devoted to me, a real 
friend — I who felt myself so capable of being such? 
How can it be accounted for, that with such inflammable 
senses, and a heart wholly made up of love, I had not 
once, at least, felt its flame for a determinate object? 
Tormented by the want of loving, without ever having 
been able to satisfy it, [| percerved myself approach- 
ing the portal of old age, and hastening to death without 
having lived. 

These melancholy but affectmg recollections led me to 
study myself with a regret that was not wholly displeas- 
ing. I thought somethmg I had not yet received was 
still due to me from destiny. To what end was I born 
with exquisite faculties, which are yet suffered to re- 
main unemployed? The sentiment of conscious merit, 
which made me feel this injustice, was some kind of 
reparation, and caused me to shed tears which with 
pleasure I suffered to flow. 

These were my meditations during the finest season of 
the year, in the month of June, im cool shades, to the 


C 105 ] 


THE CONFESSEFONSMENR 


song of the nightingale and the rippling of brooks. 
Everything concurred in plungimg me into that too seduc- 
ing state of indolence for which [ was born, but from 
which my austere manner, proceeding from a long effer- 
vescence, should for ever have delivered me. I un- 
fortunately recollected the dinner of the Château de 
Toune, and my meeting with those two charming girls 
in the same season, in places much resemblimg that in 
which I then was. The remembrance of these crreum- 
stances, which the innocence that accompanied them 
rendered still more dear to me, brought several others of 
the nature to my recollection. [I presently saw myself 
surrounded by all the objects which, in my youth, had 
given me emotion: Mademoiselle Galley, Mademoiselle 
de Graffenried, Mademoiselle de Breïl, Madame Bazzile, 
Madame de Larnage, my pretty scholars, and even the 
bewitching Zulietta, whom my heart cannot forget. I 
found myself in the midst of a seraglio of houris of my old 
acquaintance, for whom the most lively mclination was 
not new to me. My blood became imflamed, my head 
turned, notwithstanding my hair was growing grey; and 
behold the grave citizen of Geneva, the austere Jean- 
Jacques, at forty-five years of age, again become the fond 
shepherd. The mtoxication with which my mind was 
seized, although sudden and extravagant, was so strong 
and lasting, that no less potent remedy could cure me 
than the unforeseen and terrible crisis of misfortune into 
which it cast me. 

This intoxication, to whatever degree it was carried, 
went not so far as to make me forget my age and situation, 
to flatter me that I could still mspire love, nor to make 
me attempt to communicate the devouring but sterile 
flame by which ever since my youth I had felt my heart 
in vain consumed. For this I did not hope; I did not 
even desire it. Î knew the season of love was past; I 


L 106 ] 


TÉAN=JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


knew too well the ridicule m which superannuated gal- 
lants are held ever to add one to the number, and I was 
not a man to become a confident coxcomb in the decline 
of life, after having been so different during the flower of 
my age. Besides, as a friend to peace, I should have 
been apprehensive of domestic dissensions; and Î too 
sincerely loved my Thérèse to expose her to the mortifi- 
cation of seemg me entertain for others more lively senti- 
ments than those with which she inspired me for herself. 
What step did I take upon this occasion? My reader 
will already have guessed it, if he has followed me ever 
so careless{y to this point. The impossibility of attain- 
mg real bemngs threw me into the regions of chimera, and 
seeimg nothing in existence worthy of my delirium, I 
sought food for it in the ideal world, which my creative 
imagination quickly peopled with beings after my own 
heart. This resource never came at a happier moment, 
nor was it ever so fertile. [In my continual ecstasies I Im- 
toxicated my mind with the most delicious sentiments 
that ever entered the heart of man. Entirely forgetting 
the human species, I formed to myself societies of perfect 
bemgs, whose virtues were as celestial as their beauty 
— tender and faithful friends, such as Î never found here 
below. I became so fond of soaring thus im the empyrean, 
in the midst of the charmimg objects with which I was 
surrounded, that [I there passed hours and days without 
perceiving it; and, losing the remembrance of all other 
things, [I scarcely had eaten a morsel in haste before Î 
was impatient to make my escape and run to regain my 
groves. When, ready to depart for the enchanted world, 
Ï saw the approach of wretched mortals who came to 
detain me upon earth, I could neither conceal nor moder- 
ate my vexation; and, no longer master of myself, I gave 
them so uncivil a reception that it might be termed 
brutal. This tended to confirm my reputation as a mis- 


L 107 | 


THE CONFESSIONS 


anthrope, from the very cause which, could the world 
have read my heart, should have acquired me one of a 
nature directly opposite. 

In the midst of my utmost exaltation [ was ulled 
down like a paper kite, and restored to my proper place, 
by means of a smart attack of my disorder. [ recurred to 
the only means that had before given me relief, and thus 
made a truce with my angelic amours; for, besides that 
it seldom happens that a man is amorous when he suffers, 
my imagination, which is animated in the country and 
beneath the shade of trees, languishes and expires in a 
chamber and under the joists of a ceiling. [ have fre- 
quently regretted that there exist no Dryads; it would 
certainly have been amongst these that I should have 
fixed my attachment. 

Other domestic broïls came at the same time to in- 
crease my chagrin. Madame Le Vasseur, while mak- 
ing me the finest compliments in the world, alienated 
her daughter from me as much as she could. I recerved 
letters from my late neighbourhood, mforming me that 
the good old lady had secretly contracted several debts 
in the name of Thérèse, to whom the matter became 
known, but of which she had never said a word. The 
debts to be paid hurt me much less than the secret that 
had been made of them. How could she, with whom I 
had never had a secret, be secret with me? Is it possible 
to dissimulate with persons whom we love? The Coterie 
Holbachique, who found that I never made a journey to 
Paris, began seriously to be afraid that I was happy and 
satisfied in the country, and madman enough to remain 
there. Hence the cabals by which attempts were made 
to recall me mdirectly to the city. Diderot, who did not 
wish to show himself immediately, began by detaching 
from me Deleyre, whom I had introduced to him, and 
who received and transmitted to me the impressions that 


L 108 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


Diderot chose to give, without suspecting to what end 
they were directed. 

Everythmg seemed to concur in withdrawing me from 
my charming and mad reverie. I had not recovered 
from my late attack when I received a copy of the poem 
on the destruction of Lisbon, which I imagined to be 
sent by the author. This made it necessary that I should 
write to him and speak of his composition. I did so, and 
my letter was a long time afterwards printed without my 
consent, as Î shall hereafter have occasion to remark. 

Struck by seeing this poor man, overwhelmed, if I may 
so speak, with prosperity and honour, bitterly exclaim- 
ing against the miseries of this life, and fmding every- 
thmg to be wrong, [ formed the insensate project of 
making him look imto his own heart, and of proving to 
him that everything was right. \Woltaire, while always 
appearmg to believe in God, never really believed in any- 
thing but the devil} since his pretended Deity 1s a mali- 
cious being, who, according to him, takes no pleasure 
but in evil. The glaring absurdity of this doctrine 1s 
particularly disgustimg in a man enjoying the greatest 
prosperity; who, from the bosom of happiness, endeav- 
ours, by the frightful and cruel image of all the calamities 
from which he is exempt, to reduce his fellows to despair. 
Ï, who had a better right than he to calculate and weigh 
the evils of human life, impartially examined them, and 
proved to him that of all those evils there was not one to 
be attributed to Providence, and which had not its source 

rather in the abusive use man made of his faculties than 
in nature. Î treated him, in this letter, with the greatest 
respect and delicacy possible. Yet, knowimg his self- 
love to be extremely irritable, I did not send the letter 
immediately to himself, but to Dr. Tronchin, his physi- 
| cian and friend, with full power either to give it to him 
or destroy it. Voltaire imformed me in a few lines that 


| L 109 ] 
| 
| 


THE. CONFESSIONS 


being üill, having likewise the care of a sick person, he 
postponed his answer until some future day, and saïd 
not a word upon the subject. Tronchin, when he sent 
me the letter, inclosed in it another, in which he ex- 
pressed but very little esteem for the person from whom 
he had received it. 

I have never published, nor even shown, either of these 
two letters, not liking to make à parade of such little tri- 
umphs; but the originals are in my collections (A, Nos. 
20 and 21). Since that time Voltaire has published the 
answer he promised me, but which [ never received. 
This is none other than the novel of Candide, of which 
Ï cannot speak, because I have not read it. 

AIT these interruptions ought to have radically cured 
me of my fantastic amours, and they were perhaps the 
means offered me by Heaven to prevent their destructive 
consequences; but my evil star prevailed, and I had 
scarcely begun to go out before my heart, my head, and 
my feet returned to the same paths. [ say the same in 
certain respects, for my ideas, rather less exalted, re- 
mained this time upon earth, but yet were busied in 
making so exquisite a choice of all that was there to be 
found amiable of every kind that it was not much less 
chimerical than the imagimary world I had abandoned. 

I figured to myself love and friendship, the two idols 
of my heart, under the most ravishing images. I pleased 
myself in adorning them with all the charms of the sex 
I had always adored. [I imagined two female friends, 
rather than two of my own sex, because, although the 
example be more rare, it is also more lovable. I endowed 
them with different but analogous characters, with two 
faces, not perfectly beautiful, but according to my taste, 
and animated with benevolence and sensibility. [I made 
one brown and the other fair, one lively and the other 
languishing, one wise and the other weak, but of so. 


Cr10 | 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


amiable a weakness that it seemed to add a cnarm to 
virtue. Ï gave to one of the two a lover, of whom the 
other was a tender friend, and even something more, but 
I did not admit rivalry, or quarrels, or Jealousy, because 
every painful sentiment is painful to me to imagine, and 
ÏJ was unwilling to tarnish this smiling picture by any- 
thing which was degrading to nature. Smitten with my 
two charming models, I identified myself with the lover 
and friend as much as it was possible to do it, but I made 
him young and amiable, giving him at the same time the 
virtues and defects which I felt in myself. 

That I might place my characters in a residence proper 
for them, I successively passed in review the most beauti- 
ful places that I had seen in my travels, but found no 
grove sufficiently fresh and verdant, no landscape suffñ- 
ciently striking, to please me. The valleys of Thessaly 
would have satisfied me had I but once seen them; but 
my imagination, fatigued with invention, wished for some 
real place which might serve it as a point to rest upon, 
and create in me an illusion with respect to the real 
existence of the inhabitants [| mtended to place there. 
I thought a good while upon the Boromean Islands, the 
delightful prospect of which had transported me, but I 
found in them too much art and ornament for my person- 
ages. However, [ required a lake, and concluded by 
making choice of that about which my heart has never 
ceased to wander. I fixed upon that part of the banks of 
this lake where my wishes have long since placed my resi- 
dence in the imaginary happiness to which fate has con- 


_ fined me. The native place of my poor Mamma had still 








for me a charm. The contrast of the situations, the rich- 
 ness and variety of the sites, the magnificence, the majesty 
of the whole, which ravishes the senses, affects the heart, 
and elevates the soul, determmed me to give it the 
preference, and I placed my young pupils at Vévai. This 


[ir] 


THE CONFESSIONS hIORr 


is what Ï imagined at the first sketch; the rest was not 
added until afterwards. 

I for a long time confined myself to this vague in) 
because it was sufficient to fill my imagination with 
agreeable objects, and my heart with sentiments that it 
loves to nourish. These fictions, by frequently present- 
ing themselves, at length gained more consistence, and 
took in my mind a determined form. I then had an m- 
clination to express upon paper some of the situations | 
that fancy presented to me, and, recalling everything I 
had felt during my youth, this, im some measure, gave 
free scope to that desire of loving which I had never 
been able to satisfy, and by which I felt myself consumed. 

I first penned a few scattered letters, without connec- 
tion or sequence, and when I afterwards wished to arrange 
them I was often greatly embarrassed. What is scarcely 
credible, and yet very true, is my having written the two 
first parts almost wholly in this manner, without having 
any well-formed plan, and not foreseeng that I should 
one day be tempted to make it a regular work. For this 
reason the two parts afterwards formed, of materials not 
prepared for the place im which they are disposed, are 
seen to be filled with a kmd of verbiage not found in the 
others. | 

In the midst of my reveries I had a visit from Madame 
d’Houdetot, the first she had ever made me, but which 
unfortunately was not the last, as will hereafter appear. 
The Comtesse d'Houdetot was the daughter of the late 
Monsieur de Bellegarde, a farmer-general, sister to Mon- 
sieur d'Épinay and to Messieurs de Lalive and de La 
Briche, both of whom have since filled the post of intro- 
ducers of ambassadors. I have spoken of the acquaint- 
ance Ï made with her before she was married; since that 
event I had not seen her, except at the fêtes of La Che- 
vrette, with Madame d’ Épinay, her sister-m-law. Having 


lérr2t] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


frequently passed several days with her, both at La 
Chevrette and Épinay, I not only always thought her 
very amiable, but I[ seemed also to perceive that she was 
my well-wisher. She was fond of walking with me; we 
were both good walkers, and the conversation between 
us did not flag. However, Î never went to see her im 
Paris, although she had several times requested, and 
even solicited, me to do so. Her connection with Mon- 
sieur de Saint-Lambert, with whom [I began to be inti- 
mate, rendered her more imteresting to me, and it was to 
bring me some account of that friend, who was, I believe, 
then at Manon, that she came to see me at the Hermit- 
age. 

This visit had something of the appearance of the be- 
ginning of a romance. She lost her way. Her coach- 
man, quitting the road, which turned, attempted to cross 
straight over from the mill of Clairvaux to the Hermit- 
age. Her carriage stuck in a quagmire in the bottom of 
the valley, and she resolved to walk the rest of the way. 
Her delicate shoes were soon worn through; she sank 
into the dirt; her servants had the greatest difficulty in 
extricating her; and she at length arrived at the Hermit- 
age in boots, making the place resound with her laughter, 
in which Î[ most heartily jomed. She had to change 
everything. Thérèse provided her with what was neces- 
sary, and [ prevailed upon her to forget her dignity and 
partake of a rustic collation, with which she seemed 
highly satisfied. It was late, and her stay was short; 
but the interview was so mirthful that her fancy was 
agreeably engaged, and she seemed disposed to return. 
She did not, however, put this project mto execution 
until the next year; but, alas! the delay was no protec- 
tion to me. 

I passed the autumn in an employment that no person 
would suspect me of undertaking: this was guarding 


ES ET 


THE CONFESSTONSMNR 


the fruit of Monsieur d'Épinay. The Hermitage was the 
reservoir of the waters of the park of La Chevrette; there 
was a garden walled round and planted with espaliers 
and other trees, which produced Monsieur d’Epinay 
more fruit than his kitchen-garden at La Chevrette, al- 
though three-fourths of it was stolen from him. That 
Ï might not be a guest entirely useless, [ took upon my- 
self the direction of the garden and the inspection of the 
gaidener’s conduct. Everything went on well until the 
fruit season, but as the produce became ripe I observed 
that it disappeared without knowing in what manner it 
was disposed of. The gardener assured me it was the 
dormice that ate up all. I declared war against them, and 
destroyed a great number of these animals, notwith- 
standing which the fruit still dimimished. I watched so 
closely that at last I found the gardener himself to be the 
great dormouse. He lodged at Montmorency, whence he 
came im the night with his wife and children to take 
away the fruit he had concealed im the daytime, and 
which he sold in the market at Paris as publicly as though 
he had brought it from a garden of his own. This wretch, 
whom I loaded with kindness, whose children were 
clothed by Thérèse, and whose father, who was a beggar, 
Ï almost supported, robbed us with as much ease as 
effrontery, not one of the three being sufficiently vigilant 
to prevent him, and in a single night he emptied my 
cellar, as Î saw im the mornimg. Whilst he seemed to 
address himself to me only, I suffered everything; but, be- 
ing desirous of giving an account of the fruit, I was obliged 
to denounce the robber. Madame d’Epinay desired 
me to pay and discharge him, and look out for another. 
I did so. As this rascal rambled about the Hermitage 
every night, armed with a thick staff with an 1ron ferrule 
— rather, mdeed, a big club — and accompanied by 
other villains like himself, to relieve the gouverneuses 


Cir4] 


JEAN=-JACQUES :ROUSSEAU 


from their fears Ï made his successor sleep always at the 
Hermitage; and, this not being sufhicient to remove 
their apprehensions, Î sent to ask Madame d’Epinay for 
a musket, which [I kept im the gardener’s chamber, with 
an order not to make use of it unless an attempt were 
made to break open the door or scale the garden walls, 
and to fire nothing but powder, meaning only to frighten 
the thieves. This was certainly the least precaution a 
man imdisposed could take for the common safety, hav- 
ing to pass the winter im the midst of a wood with two 
timid women. Î also procured a little dog to serve as a 
sentinel. Deleyre coming to see me about this time, I 
related to him my situation, and we laughed together at 
my military apparatus. At his return to Paris he sought 
to amuse Diderot with the story, and by this means the 
Coterie Holbachique learned that [I was seriously dis- 
posed to pass the winter at the Hermitage. This perse- 
verance, of which they had not imagmed me to be ca- 
pable, disconcerted them, and, until they could think of 
some other scheme for making my residence disagreeable 
to me, they sent back, by means of Diderot, the same 
Deleyre, who, though at first he had thought my pre- 
cautions quite natural, ended by discovering that they 
were Imconsistent with my principles and more than 
ridiculous, as he said in his letters, in which he over- 
whelmed me with pleasantries sufhiciently bitter and 
satirical to offend me, had I been so disposed. But at 
that time, being full of tender and affectionate senti- 
ments, and not susceptible of any other, [ perceived im 
his biting sarcasms nothing more than a jest, and be- 
lieved him only jocose when others would have thought 
him utterly extravagant.! 


1 | wonder now at my stupidity in not having seen, when writing the 
above, that the ill-humour with which the Holbachians saw me go into 
the country, and remain there, had regard principally to Madame Le 


Cris] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


By my care and vigilance I guarded the garden so well, 
that, although there had been but little fruit that year, 
the produce was triple that of the preceding years. It is 
true Î spared no pains to preserve 1t, and I went so far as 
to escort what [ sent to La Chevrette and to Epinay, 
and to carry baskets of it myself. I recollect that the 
aunt and I carried one of these, which was so heavy that, 
sinking beneath the burden, we were obliged to rest every 
ten steps, and when we arrived with it we were quite 
wet with perspiration. 


[1757.] As soon as the inclement season began to 
confme me to the house, [ wished to return to my m- 
dolent amusements, but this [ found impossible. [I had 
everywhere the two charming female friends before my 
eyes; their friend, their surroundings, the country they 
inhabited, and the objects created or embellished for 
them by my imagination. Î was no longer myself for a 
moment; my delirium never left me. After many use- 
less efforts to banish all these fictions from my mind, 
they at length wholly seduced me, and my future endeav- 
ours were confined to giving them order and coherence, 
for the purpose of converting them into a species of 
novel. 

My greatest embarrassment was shame im having 
contradicted myself so openly and fully. After the 
severe principles [ had just so publicly asserted, after the 
austere maxims Î had so loudly preached, and my bitter 
mvectives against books which breathed nothing but 
effeminacy and love, could anything be less expected, 
or more extraordinary, than to see me, with my own 


Vasseur, whom they had no longer in their power as a guide to their 
systems of imposture, so far as exact time and place were concerned. 
This idea, which strikes me so long after the event, perfectly explains 
the strangeness of their conduct, which on any other ground is inexplic- 


able. — K. 
To 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


hand, write my name in the list of authors whose books 
Ï had so harshly censured? I felt this imconsistency in 
all its extent. Î reproached myself with it, I blushed at 
it and was vexed; but all this could not bring me back 
to reason. Completely overcome, [ was at all risks 
obliged to submit, and to resolve to brave the ‘What will 
the world say of it?” but reserving my right of deliberating 
afterwards whether or not I should show my work, for I 
did not yet suppose [I should ever determine to publish it. 

This resolution taken, I entirely abandoned myself to 
my reveries, and, by frequently revolving these in my 
mind, formed with them the kimd of plan of which the 
execution has been seen. This was certainly the greatest 
advantage that could be drawn from my folles: the 
love of good, which has never been effaced from my heart, 
turned them towards useful objects, the moral of which 
might have produced its good effects. My voluptuous 
descriptions would have lost all their graces had they 
been devoid of the fair tints of imnocence. 

“A weak girl is an object of pity whom love may render 
interesting, and who frequently 1s not therefore the less 
amiable, but who can see without mdignation the man- 
ners of the age; and what is more disgusting than the 
pride of a faithless wife, who, openly treading under 
foot every duty, pretends that her husband ought to be 
extremely grateful for.her unwillmgness to suffer herself 
to be taken in the act? Perfect beings are not in nature, 
and their examples are not near enough to us. But that 
a young person born with a heart equally tender and 
virtuous, who suffers herself, when a girl, to be con- 
quered by love, and when a woman, recovers strength of 
mind enough to conquer in her turn, and resume her 
virtue, whoever shall say that this picture taken as a 
whole is scandalous and useless, is a liar and a hypocrite; 
hearken not to him. 

Cir7] 


THE: CONFESSLONSE 


Besides this object of morality and conjugal chastity 
which is radically connected with all social order, I had 
in view one more secret in behalf of concord and public 
peace — a greater, and perhaps more important object 
in itself, at least as affairs stood at that moment. The 
storm raised by the Encyclopédie, far from being ap- 
peased, was at this time at its height. Two parties, ex- 
asperated against each other to the last degree of fury, 
soon resembled enraged wolves set on for their mutual 
destruction, rather than Christians and philosophers who 
had a reciprocal wish to enlighten and convince each 
other, and lead their brethren to the way of truth. Per- 
haps nothing more was wanting to each party than a few 
turbulent chiefs, who possessed a little power, to make 
this quarrel degenerate imto a civil war; and God knows 
what a civil war of religion founded on each side upon 
the most cruel intolerance would have produced. Natu- 
rally an enemy to all party spirit, I had freely spoken to 
each severe truths to which they had not listened. I 
thought of another expedient, which, in my simplicity, 
appezred to me admirable: this was, to abate their re- 
ciprocal hatred by destroying their prejudices, and show- 
ing to each party the virtue and merit in the other was. 
worthy of public esteem and the respect of mankind. 
This project, little remarkable for its wisdom, which 
supposed sincerity in man, and whereby I fell into the 
error with which [ reproached the Abbé de Saint-Pierre, 
had the success that was to be expected from it: it drew 
together and united the parties only for the purpose of 
crushimg me. Until experience made me discover my 
folly, Ï gave my attention to it with a zeal worthy of the 
motive by which I[ was mspired; and I imagined the two 
characters of Wolmar and Julie in an ecstasy which made 
me hope to render them both amiable, and, what is still 
more, by means of each other. 


[ais il 


Re. pe 2 


a - 


JEAN-JACQUES: ROUSSEAU 


Satisfied with having made a rough sketch of my plan, 
Ï returned to the situations in detail which I had marked 
out, and from the arrangement I gave them resulted the 
first two parts of the Julie, which I fnished during the 
winter with imexpressible pleasure, procuring gilt paper 


to receive a fair copy of them, azure and silver powder to 


dry the writing, and narrow blue ribbon to tack my sheets 
together; im a word, I thought nothing sufhiciently ele- 
gant and delicate for my two charming girls, of whom, 
like another Pygmalion, [| became madly enamoured. 
Every evening, by the fireside, [I read the two parts to 
the gouverneuses. The daughter, without saying a word, 
was, like myself, moved to tenderness, and we mingled 
our sighs; her mother, finding there were no compli- 
ments, understood nothing of the matter, remained un- 
moved, and, at the imtervals when I was silent, simply 
repeated, ‘Monsieur, that 1s very fine.” 

Madame d’Epinay, uneasy at my being alone in winter, 
in a solitary house m the midst of woods, often sent to in- 
quire after my health. I never had such real proofs of 
her friendship for me, to which mine never more fully 
answered. It would be wrong in me were not I, among 
these proofs, to make special mention of her portrait, 
which she sent me, at the same time requesting instruc- 
tions from me as to the means whereby she might procure 
mine, painted by Latour, and which had been shown at 
the Salon. I ought equally to speak of another proof of 
her attention to me, which, although it 1s laughable, 1s a 
feature im the history of my character, on account of the 
impression received from it. One day, when it froze to 
an extreme degree, in opening a packet that she had 
sent me containing several things [ had desired her to 
purchase for me, I found a little under-petticoat of 
English flannel, which she told me she had worn, and 
desired I would make of it an under-waistcoat. The 


Cr] 


THE CONFESSIONS 


language of her note was charming, full of unaffected 
kindness. This consideration, more than friendly, ap- 
peared to me so tender, as if she had stripped herself to 
clothe me, that, in my emotion, Î repeatedly kissed — 
shedding tears at the same time — both the note and the 
petticoat. Thérèse thought me mad. It is singular that, 
of all the marks of friendship that Madame d’Épinay 
ever showed me, none ever touched me as this did, and 
that, ever since our rupture, I have never recollected it 
without being very sensibly affected. I for a long time 
preserved her little note, and it would still have been in 
my possession had it not shared the fate of my other 
notes received at the same period.! 

Although my disorder then gave me but little respite 
in winter, and during a part of the imterval I had to seek 
relief from appliances, this was still, upon the whole, the 
season which, since my residence im France, I had passed 
with most pleasure and tranquillity. During four or five 
months, whilst the bad weather sheltered me from the 
interruptions of importunate visits, Î tasted to a greater 
degree than I had ever yet, or have since done, that 
equable, simple, and imdependent life, the enjoyment of 
which still made it the more desirable to me, without any 
other company than the two gouverneuses in reality and 
the two female cousins in idea. It was then especially 
that I daily congratulated myself upon the resolution I. 
had had the good sense to take, unmindful of the clamours 
of my friends, who were vexed at seeing me delivered 
from their tyranny; and when I heard of the criminal 
attempt of a madman, when Deleyre and Madame 
d'Epinay spoke to me in their letters of the troubles and 
agitation which reigned in Paris, how thankful was I to’ 


1 See Mémoires de Madame d'Épinay, vol. il. p. 347. 
2? The attempted assassination of Louis XV. by Damiens, on January 


4th, 1757. 
[ 120 ] 


AN EIACGQUES ROUSSEAU 


Heaven for having placed me at a distance from all such 
spectacles of horror and guilt! These would have con- 
tinued and increased the bilious humour which the sight 
of public disorders had given me; while, seeing nothing 
around me in my retirement but gay and pleasing ob- 
jects, my heart was wholly abandoned to amiable senti- 
ments. Î here note with pleasure the course of the last 
peaceful moments left to me. The spring succeeding to 
this winter, which had been so calm, developed the germs 
of the misfortunes I have yet to describe, in the tissue of 
which a like interval, where I had leisure to respire, 
will not be found. | 
Ï think, however, Î can recall to mind that, durimg 
this mterval of peace, and even in the bosom of my soli- 
tude, I was not quite undisturbed by the Holbachians. 
Diderot stirred up some strife against me; and [I am 
much decerved if it was not in the course of this winter 
that Le Fils Naturel, of which I shall soon have occasion 
to speak, made its appearance. Not only, from causes 
which will afterwards be known, have I few records of 
that period, but those even which have been left im my 
possession are not very exact with respect to dates. 
Diderot never dated his letters. Madame d’Epmay and 
Madame d’Houdetot seldom dated theirs, except the 
day of the week, and Deleyre mostly confned himself to 
the same rules. When I was desirous of putting these 
letters in order, Î was obliged to supply, by guessing, 
dates so uncertain that [ cannot depend upon them. 
Unable, therefore, to fix with certainty the beginning of 
these quarrels, I prefer relating in one subsequent article 
everything I can recollect concerning them. 
he return of spring had mcreased my fond delirium, 
and in my erotic transports [ had composed for the last 
parts of Julie several letters, wherem evident marks of 
the rapture in which [ wrote them are found. Amongst 
[ 121 ] 


s 
121 


THE CONFESSIONS OR 


others, I may quote those from the Élysée, and the ex- 
cursion upon the lake, which, if my memory does not 
deceive me, are at the end of the fourth part. Whoever, 
in reading these letters, does not feel his heart soften and 
melt into the tenderness by which they were dictated, 
ought to lay down the book: nature has refused him the 
means of judging of sentiment. 

} Precisely at the same time Î received a second unfore- 
seen visit from Madame d’'Houdetot. In the absence of 
her husband, who was captain of the gendarmerie, and of 
her lover, who was also in the service, she had come to 
Eaubonne, in the midst of the Valley of Montmorency, 
where she had taken a pretty house, and thence she made 
a new excursion to the Hermitage. She came on horse- 
back, and dressed in men’s clothes. Although I am not 
very fond of this kind of masquerade, I was struck with 
the romantic appearance she made, and for once it was 
with love. As this was the first and only time im all my 
life, and the consequences will for ever render it terrible 
to my remembrance, Î must take permission to enter 
into some particulars on the subject. 

Madame la Comtesse d’Houdetot was nearly thirty 
years of age, and not handsome; her face was marked 
by the small-pox, her complexion coarse, she was short- 
sighted, and her eyes were rather round; nevertheless 
she had a youthful air, and her physiognomy, possessing 
vivacity and sweetness, was attractive. She had an abun- 
dance of long black hair, which hung down in natural 
curls much below her waist; her figure was neatly formed, 
and she was at once awkward and graceful in her move- 
ments; her wit was natural and pleasing; gaiety, heed- 
lessness, and ingenuousness were happily combined; 
she abounded im charming sallies, which were so little 
premeditated that they sometimes escaped her lips im 
spite of herself. She possessed several agreeable talents, 


[LT2814 


DAANÆPACQUES ROUSSEAU 


played the harpsichord, danced well, and wrote pleas- 
ing poetry. Her character was angelic; this was founded 
upon a sweetness of mind, and, except prudence and forti- 
tude, contained in it every virtue. She was besides so 
much to be depended upon in all mtercourse, so faith- 
ful in society, that even her enemies were not under the 
necessity of concealing from her their secrets. I mean by 
her enemies the men, or rather the women, by whom she 
was not beloved — for as to herself, she had not a heart 
capable of hatred; and [I am of opinion that this con- 
formity with mine greatly contributed towards inspiring 
me with a passion for her. In confidential interviews of 
the most intimate friendship I never heard her speak 1ll 
of persons who were absent, not even of her sister-mn-law. 
She could neither conceal her thoughts from any one nor 
disguise any of her sentiments; and Ï am persuaded that 
she spoke of her lover to her husband as she spoke of him 
to her friends and acquaintance, and to all the world. 
What proved, beyond all manner of doubt, the purity 
and simcerity of her nature was that, being subject to 
very extraordinary absences of mind, and the most laugh- 
able mistakes, she was often guilty of some very impru- 
dent ones with respect to herself, but never im the least 
offensive to any other. ' 

She had been married very young and against her in- 
clinations to the Comte d’Houdetot, a man of fashion, 
and a good officer, but a man who loved play and 
intrigue, who was not very lovable, and whom she 
never loved. She found im Monsieur de Saimt-Lam- 
bert all the merit of her husband, with more agreeable 
qualities of mind, wit, virtue, and talents. If anything 


in the manners of the time can be pardoned, it is surely 


| 
| 


1 
} 


| 


an attachment which duration renders more pure, to 
which its effects do honour, and which becomes cemented 
by reciprocal esteem. 

Ci23] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


It was a little from inclination, as Ï am disposed to 
think, but much more to please Saint-Lambert, that she 
came to see me. He had requested her to doit; and there 
was reason to believe that the friendship which began to 
be established between us would render this society agree- 
able to all three. She knew I was acquainted with their 
relation, and, as she could speak to me without restraint, 
it was natural she should find my conversation agreeable. 
She came; I saw her; I was intoxicated with love with- 
out an object; this intoxication fascinated my eyes; 
the object fixed itself upon her; I saw my Julie m Madame 
d'Houdetot, and Ï soon saw nothing but Madame 
d'Houdetot, but with all the perfections with which I had 
just adorned the idol of my heart. To complete my 
delirium she spoke to me of Saint-Lambert with the fond- 
ness of a passionate lover. Contagious force of love! 
while listening to her and finding myself near her, I was 
seized with a delicious trembling which I had never ex- 
perienced before when near to any person whatsoever. 
She spoke, and I felt myself affected. I thought 1 was 
only interested by her sentiments, when [ perceived 1 
possessed those which were similar. I drank freely of the 
poisoned cup, of which I yet tasted nothing more than 
the sweetness. Finally, imperceptibly to us both, she 
inspired me for herself with all that she expressed for her 
lover. Alas! it was very late in life; and cruel was it to 
consume with a passion not less violent than unfortunate, 
for a woman whose heart was already filled with love for 
another. 

Notwithstanding the extraordinary emotions I had felt 
when in her company, I did not at first perceive what 
had happened to me; it was not until after her departure 
that, wishing to think of Julie, I was struck with surprise 
at being unable to think of anythmg but Madame 
d'Houdetot. Then were my eyes opened: I felt my muis- 


C124] 


HEAN=J'ACQUES ROUSSEAU 


fortune and lamented what had happened, but I did not 
foresee the consequences. 

Ï hesitated a long time on the manner in which I 
should conduct myself towards her, as if real love left 
one sufhicient reason to deliberate and act accordingly. 
I had not yet determined upon this when she unexpectedly 
returned and found me unprovided. Then I was in- 
structed. Shame, the companion of evil, rendered me 
dumb and made me tremble in her presence. I dared 
neither to open my mouth nor to raise my eyes. I was im 
an imexpressible confusion, which it was impossible she 
should not perceive. I resolved to confess to her my state 
of mind, and leave her to guess the cause: this was tell- 
ing her in terms sufficiently clear. 

Had I been young and lovable, and Madame d’'Houde- 
tot afterwards weak, I should here blame her conduct; 
but this was not the case, and I am obliged to applaud 
and admire it. The resolution she took was equally 
prudent and generous. She could not suddenly break 
with me without giving her reasons for it to Saint- 
Lambert, who himself had desired her to come and see 
me; this would have exposed two friends to a rupture, 
and perhaps a public one, which she wished to avoid. 
She had for me esteem and good wishes: she pitied my 
folly without encouraging it, and endeavoured to restore 
me to reason. She was glad to preserve to her lover and 
herself a friend for whom she had some respect, and she 
spoke of nothing with more pleasure than the mtimate 
and agreeable society we might form between us three 
when I should become reasonable. She did not always 
confine herself to these friendly exhortations, and, in 
case of need, did not spare me more severe reproaches, 
which I had richly deserved. 
| L'spared myself still less. The moment I was alone I 
began to recover. Î was more calm after my declaration: 


C 125 ] 





Re 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


love known to the person by whom it is inspired becomes 
more supportable. The forcible manner in which I re- 
proached myself with mine ought to have cured me of 
it, had the thing been possible. What powerful motives 
did I not call to my aid to stifle it! My morals, senti- 
ments, and principles, the shame, the treachery, and 
crime of abusing what was confided to friendship, and, 
in fine, the ridiculousness of burning, at my age, with 
extravagant passion for an object whose heart was pre- 
engaged, and who could neither afford me any return 
nor the least hope; moreover, with a passion which, far 
from having anything to gain by constancy, daily be- 
came less sufferable. 

Who would imagine that this last consideration, which 
ought to have added weight to all the others, was that 
whereby I eluded them? What scruple, thought I, ought 
Ï to make of a folly prejudicial to nobody but myself? 
Am I, then, a young gentleman of whom Madame 
d’'Houdetot ought to be afraid? Would not it be said 
satirically, in answer to my presumptuous remorse, that 
my gallantry, manner, and style of dress must seduce 
her? Poor Jean-Jacques, love on at thy ease, with a 
good conscience, and be not afraid that thy sighs will be 
prejudicial to Saint-Lambert! 

It has been seen that [ never was enterprising, not 
even in my youth. Thinking so was according to my 
turn of mind; it flattered my passion. This was suffi- 
cient to induce me to abandon myself to it without 
reserve, and to laugh even at the impertiment scruple 
that I thought I had made from vanity rather than 
from reason. This is a great lesson for virtuous minds, 
which vice never attacks openly: it finds means to sur- 
prise them by masking itself with some sophism, and 
not unfrequently some virtue. 

Guilty without remorse, [I soon became so without 


[126 | 


HEAN-JACOUESTROUSSEAU 


measure; and Î entreat the reader to observe in what 
manner my passion followed my nature, at length to 
plunge me into an abyss. In the first place, it assumed 
an air of humility to encourage me; and to render me 
imtrepid it carried this humility even to mistrust. 
Madame d’'Houdetot, incessantly putting me in mind of 
my duty, without once for a single moment flattering 
my folly, treated me, on the other hand, with the great- 
est kimdness, and adopted towards me the tone of the 
most tender friendship. This friendship would, I protest, 
have satisfied my wishes, had I thought it sincere; but, 
fnding it too pronounced to be real, I took it imto my 
head that love, so 1ll-suited to my age and appearance, 
had rendered me contemptible in the eyes of Madame 
d'Houdetot, that this young flighty creature only 
wished to divert herself with me and my superannuated 
passion, that she had communicated this to Saint- 
Lambert, and that the mdignation caused by my breach 
of friendship having made her lover enter into her views, 
they were agreed to turn my head and then to laugh at 
me. This folly, which at twenty-six years of age had 
made me guilty of extravagant behaviour with Madame 
de Larnage, whom I did not know, would have been 
pardonable in me at forty-five with Madame d’'Houdetot, 
had not I known that she and her lover were persons of 
too generous a disposition to mdulge in such a barbarous 
amusement. 
Madame d’Houdetot continued her visits, which I de- 
layed not to return. She, as well as myself, was fond of 
walking, and we took long walks m an enchanting coun- 
try. Satisfied with loving and darimg to say I loved, I 
should have been in the most agreeable situation had 
not my extravagance spoiled all its charm. She could 
not at first comprehend the foolish pettishness with 

which I received her attentions, but my heart, incapable 


Cr27] 


THE 'CONFESSFONSROE 


of concealing what passed in it, did not long leave her 
ignorant of my suspicions. She endeavoured to laugh 
at them; but this expedient did not succeed: transports 
of rage would have been the consequence, and she 
changed her tone. Her compassionate gentleness was 
invincible. She made me reproaches which penetrated 
my heart; she expressed an inquietude at my unjust 
fears, of which I took advantage. I required proofs of 
her being in earnest. She perceived there were no other 
means of relievmg me of my apprehensions. [ became 
pressing: the step was delicate. Ît is astonishing, and 
perhaps without example, that a woman, having suffered 
herself to be brought to terms, should have got herself 
off so well. She refused me nothing the most tender 
friendship could grant; she granted me nothing that 
rendered her unfaithful; and I had the mortification of 
seeing that the disorder into which her most triflimg 
favours had thrown all my senses had not lighted up the 
least spark im hers. 

J have somewhere said ! that nothing should be granted 
to the senses when we wish to refuse them anything. 
To prove how false this maxim was relative to Madame 
d'Houdetot, and how far she was right in depending 
upon her own strength of mind, it would be necessary 
to enter into the detail of our long and frequent con- 
versations, and follow them, in all their liveliness, durmg. 
the four months we passed together in an intimacy al- 
most without example between two friends of different 
sexes who contain themselves within the bounds which 
we never exceeded. Ah! if I had lived so long without 
feelmg the power of real love, my heart and senses 
abundantly paid the arrears. What, therefore, are the’. 
transports we feel with the object of our affections by 
whom we are beloved, if even an unshared passion can 
inspire such as I felt! 

1 La Nouvelle Héloïse, part ii. 18. 


[128 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


But Ï am wrong im calling it an unshared love; that 
which [ felt was so in some measure: love was equal on 
both sides, but not reciprocal. We were both intoxicated 
with the passion — she for her lover, and I for herself; 
our sighs and delicious tears were mingled together. 
Tender confidants of the secrets of each other, there was 
so great a similarity im our sentiments that it was im- 
possible they should not find some common point of 
union; and yet in the midst of this delicious intoxication 
she never forgot herself for a moment; and I solemnly 
protest that if ever, led away by my senses, I may have 
attempted to render her unfaithful, Î was never really 
desirous of succeeding. The very vehemence of my 
passion restramed it within bounds. The duty of self- 
denial had elevated my soul. The lustre of every virtue 
adorned m my eyes the idol of my heart; to have soiled 
the divine image would have been to destroy it. I might 
have committed the crime: it has been a hundred times 
committed im my heart; but to dishonour my Sophie! 
Ah! was this ever possible? No! I have told her a 
hundred times it was not. Had I had it in my power 
to satisfy my desires, had she consented to commit her- 
self to my discretion, I should, except in a few moments 
of delirium, have refused to be happy at such a price. 
I loved her too well to wish to possess her. 

The distance from the Hermitage to Eaubonne 1s al- 


most a league; im my frequent excursions to it [| some- 


times slept there. One evening, after having supped 
together, we went to walk in the garden under a brillant 
moon. At the bottom of the garden was a considerable 
copse, through which we passed on our way to a pretty 
grove ornamented with a cascade, of which I had given 
her the idea, and she had procured it to be executed 
accordingiy. Eternal remembrance of innocence and en- 
joyment! It was in this grove that, seated by her side 


C 129 ] 


THE CONFESSTONSAS 


upon a bank of turf under an acacia in full bloom, I 
found for the emotions of my heart a language worthy 
of them. It was the first and only time in my life; but 
Ï was sublime, if everythmg amiable and seductive with 
which the most tender and ardent love can inspire the 
heart of man can be so called. What imtoxicating tears 
did I shed upon her knees! how many did I make her 
shed unwillmgly! At length im an involuntary transport 
she exclaimed: “No, never was a man so amiable, nor 
ever was there lover who loved like you! But your. 
friend Samt-Lambert hears us, and my heart is mcapable 
of loving twice.” I sighed and was silent. [ embraced 
her — what an embrace! But this was all. She had 
lived alone for the last six months — that is, absent 
from her lover and her husband; I had seen her almost 
every day during three months, and Love never failed 
to make a third. We had supped tête-à-tête, we were 
alone, in a grove by moonkight, and after two hours of 
the most lively and tender conversation, at midnight she 
left this grove, and the arms of her lover, as morally 
and physically pure as she had entered it. Reader, 
weigh all these circumstances; I will add no more. 

Do not, however, imagine that in this situation my 
passions left me as undisturbed as I was with Thérèse 
and Mamma. I have already observed that [I was at 
this time imspired not only with love, but with love im all 
its energy and all its fury. I will not describe either the 
agitations, tremblings, palpitations, convulsionary emo- 
tions, or famtings of the heart, I continually experienced; 
these may be judged of by the effect her image alone made 
upon me. Î have observed the distance from the Hermit- 
age to Eaubonne was considerable. I went by the hills 
of Andilly, which are delightful; I mused, as I walked, 
on her whom I was going to see, the affectionate reception 
she would give me, and upon the kiss which awaited me 


Ci30] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


at my arrival. This single, this fatal kiss,! even before 
[ received it, imflamed my blood to such a degree as to 
affect my head; my eyes were dazzled, my knees trembled, 
and were unable to support me; I was obliged to stop 
and sit down; my whole frame was in inconceivable dis- 
order, and Î was upon the point of fainting. Knowing 
the danger, I endeavoured in setting out to divert my at- 
tention from the object, and think of something else. I 
had not proceeded twenty steps before the same recol- 
lection, and all its consequences, assailed me in such a 
manner that it was impossible to avoid them; and in 
spite of all my efforts I do not believe that I ever made this 
excursion alone with impunity. [I arrived at Eaubonne 
weak, exhausted, and scarcely able to support myself. 
The moment [ saw her everything was repaired; all I 
felt in her presence was the importunity of an inex- 
haustible and useless ardour. Upon the road to Eau- 
bonne there was a pleasant terrace called Mont Olympe, 
at which we sometimes met. I was first to arrive; it was 
proper that I should wait for her; but how dear this wait- 
ing cost me! To divert my attention, I endeavoured to 
write with my pencil notes which [ could have written 
with the purest drops of my blood; I never could finish 
one that was legible. When she found one of these in the 
niche upon which we had agreed, all she could learn 
from the contents was the deplorable state in which I was 
when I wrote it. This state, and its continuation dur- 
ing three months of irritation and self-denial, so ex- 
hausted me that it was several years before I recovered 
from it; and at the end of these it left me an ailment 
which I shall carry with me, or which will carry me, to 
the grave. Such was the sole enjoyment of a man of the 
most inflammable constitution, but at the same time per- 
haps one of the most timid mortals that nature ever pro- 
1 Childe Harold, üi. 70, 


Ci31] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


duced. Such were the last happy days that were meted_ 
out to me upon earth; here begins the long train of evils, 
in which there will be found but little mterruption. 

#&—— It has been seen that, during the whole course of my 
life, my heart, as transparent as crystal, has never been 
capable of concealing for the space of a moment any senti- 
ment in the least lively which had taken refuge m it. 
Let it be guessed whether it was possible for me long 
to conceal my affection for Madame d’Houdetot. Our 
intimacy struck the eyes of everybody; we did not make 
of it either a secret or a mystery. It was not of a nature 
to require any such precaution; and, as Madame d’'Houde- 
tot had for me the most tender friendship, with which 
she did not reproach herself, and I for her an esteem with 
the justice of which nobody was better acquamted than 
myself — she frank, absent, heedless; I true, awkward, 
haughty, impatient, and choleric — we exposed ourselves 
more in deceitful security than we should have done had 
we been culpable. We both went to La Chevrette, often 
in company; we sometimes met there by appoimtment. 
We lived there according to our accustomed manner, 
walking together every day, talkmg of our amours, our 
duties, our friend, and our innocent projects — all this 
in the park, opposite the apartment of Madame d’Épinay, 
under her windows, whence incessantly examining us and 
thinkmg herself braved, she glutted her heart through 
her eyes with rage and indignation. 

AÏl women have the art of concealing their anger, 
especially when it is great. Madame d’? Épinay, violent 
but deliberate, possessed this art to an eminent degree. 
She feigned not to see or suspect anything; and at the 
same time that she doubled towards me her cares, atten- 
tions, and allurements, she affected to load her sister- 
in-[aw with incivilities and marks of disdain, which she 
seemingly wished to communicate to me. It will easily 


C 132] 


D œu—  | 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


be imagined she did not succeed; but [I was on the rack. 
Torn by opposite passions, at the same time that I was 
sensible of her caresses, [ could scarcely contain my 
anger when Î saw her wanting in good manners to 
Madame d’Houdetot. The angelic sweetness of the 
latter made her endure everything without a complaint 
or even without being offended. She was, besides, often 
so absent and always so little attentive to these things, 
that half the time she did not perceive them. 

I was so taken up with my passion, that, seeing nothing 
but Sophie (one of the names of Madame d’'Houdetot), 
I did not even perceive that [I was become the laughing- 
stock of the whole house, and all those who came to it. 
The Baron d’Holbach, who never, so far as I knew, had 
been at La Chevrette, was one of the latter. Had I at 
that time been as mistrustful as Î am since become, I 
should have strongly suspected Madame d’Épinay to 


have contrived this Journey to give the Baron the amus- 


ing spectacle of the amorous citizen. But I was then so 
stupid that Î saw not even that which was glarimg to 
everybody. My stupidity did not, however, prevent me 


from finding in the Baron a more jovial and satisfied 


appearance than ordinary. Instead of looking upon me 
with his usual moroseness, he said to me a hundred 
jocose things without my knowing what he meant. Sur- 
prise was painted in my countenance, but I[ said not a 
word; Madame d’Épinay shook her sides with laughing; 
I knew not what possessed them. As nothing yet passed 
the bounds of pleasantry, the best thing I could have 
done, had I been in the secret, would have been to have 
humoured the joke. It is true, [ perceived amid the 
rallying gaiety of the Baron that his eyes sparkled with 
a malicious joy, which would have given me pain had I 
then remarked it to the degree m which it has since 
recurred to my recollection. 


(223 1) 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


One day when I went to see Madame d’Houdetot at 
Eaubonne after her return from one of her journeys to 
Paris, I found her melancholy, and observed that she 
had been weeping. I was obliged to put a restraint on 
myself, because Madame de Blainville, sister to her hus- 
band, was present; but the moment I found an oppor- 
tunity I expressed to her my uneasiness. “Ah!” said she, 
with a sigh, ‘I am much afraid your follies will cost me 
the repose of the rest of my days. Saint-Lambert has 
been informed of what has passed, and is 1ll mformed of 
it. He does me justice, but he is vexed; and, what is 
still worse, he conceals part of his vexation. Fortunately 
J have not concealed from him anything relative to our 
connection, which was formed under his auspices. My 
letters, like my heart, were full of yourself. I made him 
acquainted with everything except your extravagant pas- 
sion, of which [ hoped to cure you, and which, though 
he does not speak, [ perceive he imputes to me as a 
crime. Somebody has done us ill offices; I have been 
injured, but what does that signify? Either let us break 
entirely with each other, or do you be what you ought 
to be; I will not im future have anything to conceal 
from my lover.” 

This was the first moment in which I was sensible of 
the shame of feeling myself humbled by the sentiment 
of my fault, in presence of a young woman, the justness 
of whose reproaches I mwardly confessed, and to whom 
Ï ought to have been a Mentor. The indignation I felt 
against myself would, perhaps, have been sufficient to 
overcome my weakness, had not the tender passion in- 
spired im me by the victim of it again softened my heart. 
Alas! was this a moment to harden it when it was over- 
flowed by the tears which penetrated it in every part? 
This tenderness was soon changed into rage against the 
vile informers, who had seen nothmg but the evil of a. 


C134] 


. 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


criminal but mvoluntary sentiment, without believing, 
or even imagining, the sincere uprightness of heart by 
which it was counteracted. We did not remain long im 
doubt about the hand by which the blow was directed. 

We both knew that Madame d’Épinay corresponded 
with Saint-Lambert. This was not the first storm she 
had raised up against Madame d’'Houdetot, from whom 
she had made a thousand efforts to detach her lover, the 
success of some of which made the consequences to be 
dreaded. Besides, Grimm, who I think had accompanied 
Monsieur de Castries to the army, was m Westphalia, as 
well as Saint-Lambert; they sometimes visited one an- 
other. Grimm had made some attempts on Madame 
d'Houdetot, which had not succeeded, and bemg ex- 
tremely piqued, suddenly discontinued his visits to her. 
Let it be judged with what calmness, modest as he 1s 
known to be, he supposed she preferred to him a man 
older than himself, and of whom, since Grimm had fre- 
quented the great, he had never spoken but as a person 
whom he patronised. 

My suspicions of Madame d'Épinay were changed 
into a certaimty when I heard what had passed in my 
own house. When I was at La Chevrette, Thérèse 
frequently came there, either to bring me letters or to 
pay me that attention which my ill state of health 
rendered necessary. Madame d’ Épinay had asked her 
if Madame d’'Houdetot and I did not write to each other. 
Upon her answering in the affirmative, Madame d’Épinay 
pressed her to give her the letters of Madame d’Houde- 
tot, assuring her that she would reseal them im such a 
manner that it should never be known. Thérèse, with- 
out showing how much she was shocked at the proposi- 


_ tion, and without even putting me upon my guard, did 


ST ZT 


nothing more than conceal the letters she brought me 
more carefully —a lucky precaution, for Madame 


C135 1 


THE: CONFESSIONS MER 


d’'Épinay had her watched when she arrived, and, wait- 
ing for her in the passage, several times carried her auda- 
ciousness as far as to examine her tucker. She did more 
than this: having one day invited herself with Monsieur 
de Margency to dinner at the Hermitage, for the first 
time since I had resided there, she seized the moment 
when I was walking with Margency to go into my closet 
with the mother and daughter and to press them to show 
her the letters of Madame d’'Houdetot. Had the mother 
known where the letters were, they would have been 
oiven to her; but, fortunately, the daughter was the 
only person who was in the secret, and denied my having 
preserved any of them,—an honest, faithful, and 
generous falsehood, whilst truth would have been a per- 
fidy. Madame d’Épinay, perceiving Thérèse was not to 
be seduced, endeavoured to irritate her by jealousy, re- 
proachmg her with her easy temper and blindness. “How 
is it possible, said she to her, ‘that you do not perceive 
there is a criminal mtercourse between them? If besides 
what strikes your eyes you stand in need of other proofs, 
lend your assistance to obtain that which may furnish 
them. You say he tears up the letters from Madame 
d'Houdetot as soon as he has read them. Well, care- 
fully gather up the pieces and give them to me; I will 
take upon myself to put them together.” Such were the 
lessons my friend gave to my dear associate. 

Thérèse had the discretion to conceal from me, for a 
considerable time, all these attempts; but, perceirving 
how much [ was perplexed, she thought herself obliged to 
inform me of everything, to the end that, knowing with 
whom I had to do, Î might take measures to secure my- 
self against plots then on foot. My rage and indigna- 
tion are not to be described. Instead of dissembling 
with Madame d’Épinay according to her own example, 
and makmg use of counterplots, [ abandoned myself 


L136] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


without reserve to the natural impetuosity of my temper, 
and with my accustomed inconsiderateness came to an 
open rupture. My imprudence may be judged of by the 
following letters, which sufficiently show the manner of 
proceeding of both parties on this occasion: — 


NOTE FROM MADAME D’ÉpiNay (A, No. 44). 


‘Why do [I not see you, my dear friend? You make me 
uneasy. You have so often promised me to do nothing but 
go and come between this place and the Hermitage! In 
this [ have left you at liberty; and yet you have suffered a 
week to pass without commg. Had I not been told you were 
well, ! should have imagmed the contrary. I expected you 
either the day before yesterday or yesterday, but found myself 
disappomted. Heavens! what is the matter with you? You 
have no busmess, nor can you have any uneasiness; for, had 
this been the case, I flatter myself you would have come and 
confided it to me. You are, therefore, ill! Relieve me, I 
beseech you, speedily from my fears. Adieu, my dear friend! 
let this “adieu” produce me a “good-morning”’ from you.’ 


ANSWER 
“This (Wednesday) morning. 


‘I cannot yet say anything to you. I wait to be better 
informed, and this [ shall be sooner or later. In the mean- 
time, be persuaded that innocence accused will find a defender 
sufficientiy powerful to cause some repentance in the slanderers, 
be they who they may. 


SECOND NOTE FROM THE SAME (A, No. 45). 


‘Do you know that your letter frightens me? What does 
it mean? I have read it twenty times and more. In truth, 
I do not understand what it means. AÏI I can perceive is, 
that you are uneasy and tormented, and that you wait until 
you are no longer so before you speak to me upon the subject. 
Îs this, my dear friend, what we agreed upon? What, then, 
is become of that friendship and confidence, and by what 
means have I lost them? Is it with me or for me that you are 
angry? However this may be, come to me this evening, Î 


97 1 ‘ 


THE CONRHESSIONSNOR 


conjure you: remember you promised me, no longer than a 
week ago, to let nothing remain upon your mmd, but at once 
to speak freely to me. My dear friend, I live m that confidence 
— Stay, I have just read your letter agam; Î do not under- 
stand the contents better, but they make me tremble. You 
seem to be cruelly agitated. I could wish to calm your mind; 
but, as I am ignorant of the cause of your mquietude, I know 
not what to say, except that I am as wretched as yourself, and 
shall remain so until we meet. If you are not here this eve- 
ning at six o’clock, I set off to-morrow for the Hermitage, let 
the weather be how it will, and m whatever state of health I 
may be; for I can no longer support the anxiety [ now feel. 
Good-day, my dear friend. At all risks, I take the liberty to 
tell you, without knowing whether or not you are in need of 
such advice, that you should endeavour to stop the mroads 
of mquietude in solitude. A fly becomes a monster; [ have 
frequently experienced it. 


ANSWER 
This (Wednesday) evening. 


‘I can neither come to see you nor receive your visit so 
long as my present inquietude continues. The confidence 
of which you speak no longer exists, and it will not be easy 
for you to recover it. Î see nothmg more m your present 
anxiety than the desire of drawing from the confessions of 
others some advantage agreeable to your views; and my heart, 
so ready to pour its overflowings into another which opens 
to receive them, is shut agaimst trick and cunnimg. I dis- 
timguish your ordmary address m the difficulty you find im 
understanding my note. Do you thmk me dupe enough to 
believe that you have not comprehended what it meant? No; 
but I shall know how to overcome your subtleties by my 
frankness. I will explam myself more clearly, that you may 
understand me still less. | 

‘Two lovers, closely united and worthy of each other’s love, 
are dear to me; [ expect you will not know whom I mean unless 
Ï name them. I presume attempts have been made to disunite 
them, and that I have been made use of to imspire one of the 
two with Jealousy. The choice was not judicious, but it ap- 
peared convenient to the purposes of malice, and of this malice 
it is you whom I suspect to be guilty. I hope this becomes 
more clear. 

C 138 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


“Thus the woman whom [ most esteem would, with my 
knowledge, have been loaded with the mfamy of dividing her 
heart and person between two lovers, and I with that of being 
one of these wretches. If I knew that, for a single moment m 
your life, you had ever thought this, either of her or myself, 
I should hate you until my last hour. But it is with having 
said, and not with having thought it, that Î charge you. In 
this case, I cannot comprehend which of the three you wished 
to injure; but if you love peace of mind, tremble lest you 
should have succeeded. I have not concealed, either from 
you or her, all the 1ll I think of certam connections; but I 
wish these to end by a means as virtuous as the cause, and 
that an illegitimate love may be changed into an eternal 
friendship. Should I, who never did 1ll to any person, be the 
innocent means of doimg it to my friends? No; I should 
never forgive you; I should become your irreconcilable enemy. 
Your secrets are all I should respect; for I will never be a man 
without honour. 

‘I do not apprehend that my present perplexity will con- 
tinue a long time. I shall soon know whether or not I am 
deceived. ÏI shall then, perhaps, have great mJjuries to repair, 
which I will do with as much cheerfulness as that with which 
the most agreeable act of my life has been accompanied. But 
do you know in what manner [ will make amends for my 
faults durimg the short space of time Î have to remam near 
you? By domg what nobody but myself would do — by 
tellmg you freely what the world thmks of you, and the breaches 
you have to repair in your reputation. Notwithstanding all 
the pretended friends by whom you are surrounded\ the moment 
you see me depart, you may bid adieu to truth; you will no 
longer find any person who will tell it to you.’ | 


—— 


Tir LETTER FROM THE SAME (A, No. 46). 


‘I did not understand your letter of this mornmg; this 1 
told you because it was the case. I understand that of this 
evenimg; do not imagine that I shall ever return an answer to 
it; Ï am too anxious to forget what it contains; and, although 
you excite my pity, I am not proof against the bitterness with 
which it has filed my mind. I descend to trick and cunning 


with you! I accused of the blackest of all mfamies! Adieu, I 


regret your having the —— adieu. I know not what I say —— 


C 139 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


adieu! I shall be very anxious to forgive you. You will come 
when you please; you will be better received than your 
suspicions deserve. AII I have to desire of you is not to trouble 
yourself about my reputation. What people say of it matters 
little to me. My conduct is good, and this is sufficient for me. 
Besides, I am ignorant of what has happened to the two persons 
who are dear to me as they are to you.” 


This last letter extricated me from a terrible embar- 
rassment, and threw me into another of little less mag- 
nitude. Although these letters and answers were sent 
and returned in the same day with an extreme rapidity, 
the mterval had been suflicient to place another between 
my transports of rage, and to give me time to reflect on 
the enormity of my imprudence. Madame d’'Houdetot 
had not recommended to me anythmg so much as to re- 
main quiet, to leave her the care of extricating herself, 
and to avoid, expecially at that moment, all noise and 
rupture; and I, by the most open and atrocious insults, 
was taking the surest means of carrying rage to its greatest 
height im the heart of a woman who was already but too 
well disposed to it. I now could naturally expect noth- 
ing from her but an answer so haughty, disdainful, and 
contemptuous, that [ could not, without the utmost 
meanness, do otherwise than immediately quit her house. 
Happily she, more adroit than I was furious, avoided by 
the manner of her answer reducmg me to that extremity. 
But it was necessary either to quit or immediately to see 
her; the alternative was inevitable. I resolved on the 
latter, though [ foresaw how much I must be embar- 
rassed im the explanation. For how was I to get through 
it without exposing either Madame d’Houdetot or 
Thérèse? and woe to her whom I should name! There 
was nothing that the vengeance of an implacable and an 
intriguing woman did not make me fear for the person 
who should be the object of it. It was to prevent this 


C 140 ] 


REANN=PACOUESTROUSSE AU 


misfortune that in my letter I had spoken of nothing but 
suspicions, that [1 might not be under the necessity of 
producing my proofs. This, it is true, rendered my trans- 
ports less excusable, no simple suspicions being sufficient 
to authorise me to treat a woman, and especially a friend, 
in the way I had treated Madame d’Epinay. But here 
begins the great and noble task I worthily fulfilled, of 
expiating my faults and secret weaknesses by charging 
myself with graver faults which I was incapable of com- 
mitting, and which I never did commit. 

I had not to bear the attack I had expected, and fear 
was the greatest evil I received from it. At my approach 
Madame d’Epinay threw her arms about my neck, burst- 
ing into tears. This unexpected reception, and by an old 
friend, extremely affected me; I also shed many tears. I 
said to her a few words which had not much meaning; 
she uttered others with still less, and everything ended 
here. Supper was served; we sat down to table, where, 
in the expectation of the explanation that Î[ imagined to 
be deferred until supper was over, [| made a very poor 
figure, for Ï am so overpowered by the most trifling in- 
quietude of mind that I cannot conceal it from persons 
the least clear-sighted. My embarrassed appearance 
should have given her courage, yet she did not risk 
anything upon that foundation. There was no more ex- 
planation after than before supper; none took place on 
the next day, and our conversations, with many intervals 
of silence, consisted of imdifferent things, or some compli- 
mentary words on my part, by which, while I imformed 
her I could not say more relative to my suspicions, Î 
asserted, with the greatest truth, that if they were 1ll- 
_ founded my whole life should be employed m repairing 
the injustice. She did not show the least curiosity to 
know precisely what they were, nor for what reason I had 
formed them, and all our peace-making consisted on her 


Ci] 


THE CONFESSIONSHER 


part as well as mine in the embrace of our first meeting. 
Since Madame d’Epmay was the only person offended, 
at least in form, I thought it was not for me to strive to 
bring about a full explanation for which she herself did 
not seem anxious, and Î returned as [I had come; con- 
tinuing, besides, to live with her upon the same footing 
as before, I soon almost entirely forgot the quarrel, and 
foolishly believed that she had forgotten it also, because 
she seemed to remember it no longer. 

This, as it will soon appear, was not the only vexa- 
tion caused me by weakness; but I had others not less 
acute, which I had not brought upon myself. The only 
cause of these was a desire of forcing me from my soli- 
tude,! by means of tormenting me. They originated 
from Diderot and the Holbachians. Since I had resided 
at the Hermitage, Diderot had incessantly harassed me, 
either himself or by means of Deleyre; and I soon per- 
ceived, from the pleasantries of the latter upon my ram- 
blings in the groves, with what pleasure he had tra- 
 vestied the hermit imto the gallant shepherd. But this 
was not the question in my quarrels with Diderot; the 
causes of these were more serious. After the publication 
of Le Fils Naturel he had sent me a copy of it, which I 
had read with the mterest and attention Î ever bestow 
on the works of a friend. In reading the kind of poem in 
dialogue annexed to it, Î was surprised and rather grieved 
to find in it, amongst several things disobligmg but sup- 
portable against men living in solitude, this bitter and 
severe sentence without the least qualification: ‘II n’y a 
que le méchant qui soit seul.” This sentence is equivocal, 
and seems to present a double meaning — the one true, 


1 That is, to take from it the old woman, who was wanted in the 
conspiracy. It is astonishing that during this long quarrel my stupid 
confidence prevented me from comprehending that it was not 1 but she 
whom they wanted at Paris. — KR. 


C142] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


the other false — since it is impossible that a man who 
is determined to remain alone can do the least harm to 
anybody, and consequently he cannot be wicked. The 
sentence Im itself therefore required an interpretation — 
the more so from an author who, when he sent it to the 
press, had a friend retired from the world. It appeared to 
me shocking and uncivil either to have forgotten that 
solitary friend, or, in remembering him, not to have 
made from the general maxim the honourable and just 
exception which he owed, not only to his friend, but to 
so many worthy sages, who, in all ages, have sought for 
peace and tranquillity in retirement, and of whom, for 
the first time since the creation of the world, a writer 
took it into his head, with one stroke of his pen, indis- 
criminately to make so many villains. 

I had a great affection and the most sincere esteem for 
Diderot, and fully depended upon his having the same 
sentiments for me. But, tired with his imdefatigable 
obstinacy in continually opposimg my imclinations, tastes, 
manner of living, and everything which concerned no 
person but myself; shocked at seerng a man younger 
than I was wish, at all events, to govern me like a child; 
disgusted with his facility m promising, and his negligence 
im performing; weary of so many appointments made by 
himself, and broken, while new ones were again capri- 
ciously made only to be again broken; displeased at 
uselessly waiting for him three or four times a month on 
the days he had assigned, and in dining alone at night 
after having gone to Saint-Denis to meet him, and waited 
the whole day for his coming — my heart was already 
full of these multiplied injuries. The last appeared to me 

still more serious, and gave me infinite pain. I wrote to 
. complain of it, but in so mild and tender a manner that 
Ï moistened my paper with my tears, and my letter was 
Sufficiently affecting to have drawn others from himself. 


L145°] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


One would never guess his answer on this subject; it was 
literally as follows (A, No. 33): —- 


‘I am glad my work has pleased and affected you. You are 
not of my opinion relative to hermits. Say as much good of 
them as you please, you will be the only one in the world of 
whom I shall thmk well; even on this there would be much 
to say were it possible to speak to you without giving offence. 
A woman eighty years of agel etc. A phrase of a letter from 
a son of Madame d’ Épinay — which, if I know you well, must 
have given you much pain — has been mentioned to me.’ 


The last two expressions of this letter want explana- 
tion. 

Soon after I went to reside at the Hermitage, Madame 
Le Vasseur seemed dissatisfied with her situation, and to 
think the habitation too retired. Her remarks on this 
matter having been reported to me, I offered to send her 
back to Paris, if that was more agreeable to her, to pay 
her lodging, and to have the same care taken of her as if 
she remained with me. She rejected my offer, assured 
me she was well satisfied with the Hermitage, and that 
the country air was of service to her. This was evident, 
for, if I may so speak, she seemed to become young again, 
and enjoyed better health than at Paris. Her daughter 
told me that her mother would, on the whole, have been 
very sorry to quit the Hermitage, which was really a very 
delightful abode, bemg fond of the little employments of 
the garden and the care of the fruit, of which she had the 
handling, but that she had said what she had been de- 
sired to say to induce me to return to Paris. 

Failing im this attempt, they endeavoured to obtai by 
a scruple the effect which complaisance had not produced, 
and construed into a crime my keeping the old woman at 
a distance from the succours of which, at her age, she 
might be in need. They did not recollect that she and 
many other old people, whose lives are prolonged by the 


C 144] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


air of the country, might obtain these succours at Mont- 
morency, near to which I lived; as if there were no old 
people except in Paris, and that it was impossible for 
them to live in any other place. Madame Le Vasseur, 
who ate a good deal, and with extreme voracity, was 
subject to overflowings of bile and to strong diarrhæas, 
which lasted several days, and served her as a remedy. 
At Paris she neïther did nor took anything for them, but 
left nature to itself. She observed the same rule at the 
Hermitage, knowing it was the best thimg she could do. 
No matter, since there were not in the country either 
physicians or apothecaries, keepmg her there must, no 
doubt, be with a desire to end her existence, although 
she was in perfect health. Diderot should have deter- 
mined at what age, under pain of being punished for 
homicide, it 1s no longer permitted to let old people re- 
main out of Paris. 

This was one of the two atrocious accusations from 
which he did not except me in his remark — that none 
but the wicked were alone; and the meanimg of his 
pathetic exclamation with the et cetera which he had 
benignantly added: ‘A woman of eighty years of age! 
Ste.” 

I thought the best answer that could be given to this 
reproach would be from Madame Le Vasseur herself. I 


 destred her to write freely and naturally her sentiments 
to Madame d’Épinay. To relieve her from all constraint 


[ would not see her letter, and I showed her that which I 
am going to transcribe. I wrote it to Madame d’Épinay, 
upon the subject of an answer [ wished to return to a 
letter from Diderot still more severe, and which she had 
prevented me from sending. 


‘Thursday. 
‘My sood friend, Madame Le Vasseur is to write to you. 
1 have desired her to tell you simcerely what she thmks. To 


C 145 ] 


THE CONFESSION SHUR 


remove from her all constraimt [ have intimated to her that I 
will not see her letter, and I beg of you not to repeat to me any 
part of its contents. 

‘I will not send my letter, because you do not choose I 
should; but, feelmg myself grievously offended, it would be 
Dasenees ad falsehood, of either of which it is impossible for 
me to be guilty, to acknowledge myself in the wrong. The 
Gospel commands him to whom a blow is given to turn the 
other cheek, but not to ask pardon. Do you remember the 
man in the comedy who exclaims, while he 1s grvmg another 
blows with his staff, “This is the part of a philosopher ” ? 

‘Do not flatter ‘yourself that he will be prevented from 
coming by the Ead weather we now have. His rage will give 
him the time and strength which friendship refuses him, and 
it will be the first time in his life he ever came upon the day he 
had appomted. He will neglect nothing that he may come and 
repeat to me verbally the mjuries with which he Iloads me im his 
letters. I will endure them with anything but patience. He 
will return to Paris to be ill again, and, accordmg to custom, I 
shall be a very hateful man. What is to be done? Endureït all. 

‘But do not you admire the wisdom of the man who would 
absolutely come for me in a hackney-coach to dine at Saint- 
Denis, bring me home in a hackney-coach, and whose means, 
eight days afterwards, oblige him to come to the Hermitage 
on foot? (A, No. 34.) It is not possible, to speak his own 
language, that this should be the style of sincerity. But were 

this the case, strange changes of fortune must have happened 
im the course of a week. 

‘I jo im your afliction for the 1llness of madame your 
mother, but you will perceive that your grief is not equal to 
mine. We suffer less by seeing the persons we love ill than 
when they are unjust and cruel. | 

‘Adieu, my good friend; I shall never again mention to 
you this unhappy affarr. You speak of going to Paris with an 
unconcern which, at any other time, would give me pleasure.” 


[ wrote to Diderot, telling him what I had done rela- 
tive to Madame Le Vasseur, upon the proposal of Madame 
d'Épinay herself; and Madame Le Vasseur having, as it 
may be imagined, chosen to remain at the Hermitage, 
where she enjoyed a good state of health, always had 


C 146 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


company, and lived very agreeably. Diderot, not know- 
ing what else to attribute to me as a crime, construed my 
precaution into one, and discovered another im Madame 
Le Vasseur continumg to reside at the Hermitage, al- 
though this was by her own choice, and though her going 
to Paris had depended, and still depended, upon herself, 
where she would continue to receive the same succours 
from me as Ï gave to her im my house. 

This is the explanation of the first reproach in the 
letter of Diderot (No. 33). That of the second is in 
letter No. 34: — 


‘Le Lettré (a name given in jest by Grimm to the son of 
Madame d’Épinay) must have informed you there were upon 
the rampart twenty poor persons who were dying with cold 
and hunger, and waitmg for the liard you customarily gave 
them. This is a specimen of our little babbling —— And if 
you understood the rest it would amuse you, perhaps.? 


Here is my answer to this terrible argument, of which 
Diderot seemed so proud: — 


‘I think I answered Le Lettré — that is, the Farmer-Gen- 
erals son —that [I did not pity the poor whom he had seen 
upon the rampart, waitimg for my liard; that he had probably 
amply made it up to them; that I appoted him my substitute; 
that the poor of Paris would have no reason to complam of the 
change; and that I should not easily fnd so good a one for the 
poor of Montmorency, who were m much greater need of 
assistance. Here is a good and respectable old man, who, after 
havmg worked hard all his lifetime, no longer being able to 
continue his labours, is in his old days dymg with hunger. 
My conscience is more satisfied with the two sous I give him 
every Monday than with the hundred liards I should have 
distributed amongst all the beggars on the rampart. You 
are pleasant men, you philosophers, while you consider the 
imhabitants of cities as the only persons whom you ought to 
befriend. It is in the country that men learn how to love and 
serve humanity; all they learn im cities is to despise it.” 


C 147] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


Such were the singular scruples upon which a man of 
sense had the folly to attribute to me as a crime my retir- 
ing from Paris, and pretended to prove to me by my own 
example that it was not possible to live out of the capital 
without becoming a bad man. Î cannot at present con- 
ceive how I could be guilty of the folly of answering 
him, and of suffermg myself to be angry, imstead of 
laughing in his face. However, the decisions of Madame 
d’'Épinay and the clamours of the Coterie Holbachique 
had so far operated im his favour that Î was generally 
thought to be in the wrong; and Madame d’Houdetot 
herself, very partial to Diderot, insisted upon my going 
to see him at Paris, and making all the advances towards 
an accommodation which, full and sincere as it was 
on my part, was not of long duration. The victorious 
argument by which she subdued my heart was that at 
that moment Diderot was in distress. Besides the storm 
raised against the Encyclopédie, he had then another 
violent one to make head against, relative to his piece, 
which, notwithstanding the short history that he had 
printed at the beginnmg, he was accused of having 
entirely taken from Goldoni. Diderot, more wounded by 
criticisms than Voltaire, was overwhelmed by them. 
Madame de Grafigny had been malicious enough to 
spread a report that [I had broken with him on this ac- 
count. [I thought it would be just and generous publicly 
to prove the contrary, and Î went to pass two days, not 
only with him, but at his lodgings. This, since I had 
taken up my abode at the Hermitage, was my second 
Journey to Paris. I had made the first to run to poor 
Gauffecourt, who had had a stroke of apoplexy, from 
which he has never perfectly recovered. I did not quit 
the side of his pillow until he was out of danger. 

Diderot received me well. How many wrongs are 
effaced by the embraces of a friend! after these, what 


CL 148] 


HAINE ACGOUES M ROUSSEAU 


resentment can remain in the heart? We came to but 
little explanation. This is needless for reciprocal invec- 
tives. There is but one thing to be done, that is, to forget 
them. There had been no underhand proceedings, none 
at least that had come to my knowledge. Matters were 
not as they had been with Madame d’Épinay. He 
showed me the plan of Le Père de Famille. ‘This, said 
I to him, ‘is the best defence of Le Fils Naturel. Be silent, 
give your attention to this piece, and then throw it at 
the heads of your enemies as the only answer you think 
proper to make them.” He did so, and was satisfied with 
what he had done. I had six months before sent him 
the two first parts of my Julie, to have his opinion upon 
them. He had not yet read the work over. We read a 
part of it together. He called it all feuillet — that was 
his term, by which he meant loaded with words and re- 
dundancies. I myself had already percerved it; but it 
was the babbling of the fever: I have never been able to 
correct it. The last parts are different. The fourth 
especially, and the sixth, are masterpieces of diction. 
The day after my arrival he imsisted on taking me to 
sup with Monsieur d’Holbach. We were far from agree- 
ing upon this point, for Î wished even to get rid of the 
bargain for the manuscript on chemistry, for which Ï was 
enraged to be obliged to that man.! Diderot carried all 
before him. He swore that Monsieur d'Holbach loved 
me with all his heart, and said Î must forgive him his 
manner, which was the same to everybody, and more 
disagreeable to his friends than to others. He observed 
to me that refusing the produce of this manuscript after 
having accepted it two years before was an affront to the 
donor which he had not deserved, and that my refusal 
might be interpreted into a secret reproach for having 


1 Rousseau gives no other particulars of this affair, and his editors 
have been unable to throw any light upon it. 


C14] 


THE CONFESSIONS 


waited so long to conclude the bargaim. ‘[ see D’Hol- 
bach,’ added he, ‘every day, and know better than you 
do the nature of his disposition. Had you reason to be 
dissatisfied with him, do you think your friend capable of 
advising you to do a mean thing?” In short, with my 
accustomed weakness, [ suffered myself to be prevarled 
upon, and we went to sup with the Baron, who received 
me as he usually had done. But his wife received me 
coldly, and almost uncvilly.! [ saw nothing in her 
which resembled the amiable Caroline who, when a maïd, 
treated me so kindly. I thought I had already percerved 
that since Grimm had frequented the D’Aine household 
I had not met there so friendly a reception. 

Whilst Ï was at Paris, Saint-Lambert arrived there 
from the army. As Î was not acquainted with his arrival 
Ï did not see him until after my return to the country, 
first at La Chevrette and afterwards at the Hermitage, 
to which he came with Madame d’Houdetot, and in- 
vited himself to dinner with me. It may be judged 
whether or not Î received him with pleasure! But I 
felt one still greater at seemg the good understanding 
between my guests. Satisfied with not having disturbed 
their happiness, I myself was happy in being a witness 
to it; and [I can safely assert that during the whole of 
my mad passion, and especially at the moment of which 
I speak, had it been im my power to take from him 
Madame d’Houdetot, I would not have done it, nor should 
Ï have been so much as tempted to undertake it. I found 
her so earnest in her love for Saint-Lambert that I could 
scarcely imagine she would have been as much so had 
she loved me instead of him; and, without wishing to 
disturb their union, all that I really desired of her im my 
moments of passion was that she would permit herself to 


1 This was Baron d’Holbach’s second wife, Caroline-Suzanne d’Aine, 
his deceased wife’s sister. 
C150] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


be loved. Finally, however violent my passion may have 
been for her, I found it as agreeable to be the confidant as 
the object of her amours; and I never for a moment con- 
sidered her lover as a rival, but always as my friend. It 
will be said that this was not love. Be it so; but it was 
something more. 

As for Saint-Lambert, he behaved like an honest and 
judicious man: as [ was the only person culpable, so was 
I] the only one who was punished; this, however, was 
with the greatest indulgence. He treated me severely, 
but in a friendly manner, and I perceived I had lost some- 
thing in his esteem, but not the least part of his friend- 
ship. For this [ consoled myself, knowing it would be 
much more easy for me to recover the one than the other, 
and that he had too much sense to confound an involun- 
tary and fleetimg weakness with a vice of character. If 
even 1 were m fault im all that had passed, Î was but very 
little so. Had I first sought after his mistress? Had not 
he himself sent her to me? Did not she come in search 
of me? Could I avoid receiving her? What could I do? 
They themselves had done the evil, and I was the person 
on whom it fell. In my situation they would have done 
as much as I did, and perhaps more: for, however esti- 
mable and faithful Madame d’Houdetot might be, she 
was still a woman; he was absent; opportunities were 
frequent, temptations strong, and it would have been 
very difhcult for her always to have defended herself 
with the same success against a more enterprising man. 
It was assuredly much, in our situation, that we were 
able to set boundaries beyond which we never permitted 
ourselves to pass. 

Although at the bottom of my heart I found evidence 
sufficiently honourable in my favour, so many appear- 
ances were against me, that the mvincible shame always 
predomimant gave me, in his presence, the appearance of 


STE 


THE CONFESSIONS 


quilt; and this he took advantage of for the purpose of 
humbling me: a single circumstance will describe this 
reciprocal situation. [ read to him, after dinner, the 
letter I had written the preceding year to Voltaire, and 
of which Saint-Lambert had heard mention. Whulst I 
was reading he fell asleep; and I, lately so haughty, at 
present so foolish, dared not stop, and continued to read 
whilst he continued to snore. Such were my imdignities, 
and such his revenge; but his generosity never permitted 
him to exercise it except amongst our three selves. 

After his return to the army, I found Madame d’Houde- 
tot greatly changed in her manner with me. At this I 
was as much surprised as if [ ought not to have expected 
it; it affected me more than it ought to have done, and 
did me considerable harm. It seemed that everything 
from which I expected a cure plunged still deeper into 
my heart the dart which I at length broke off rather 
than drew out. 

I was quite determined to conquer myself, and leave 
no means untried to change my foolish passion into a 
pure and lasting friendship. For this purpose I had 
formed the finest projects in the world, for the execu- 
tion of which the concurrence of Madame d’Houdetot 
was necessary. When [I wished to speak to her, [I found 
her absent and embarrassed; I perceived I was no longer 
agreeable to her, and that something had passed which 
she would not communicate to me, and which I have 
never yet known.! This change, and the impossibility of 
knowimg the reason of it, grieved me to the heart. She 
asked me for her letters; these Ï returned her with a 
fidelity which she did me the wrong to doubt for a mo- 
ment. This doubt was another unexpected wound given 


1 The cause was an anonymous letter, exciting Saint-Lambert’s 
jealousy against Madame d’'Houdetot, who was represented as favouring 
the attentions of Rousseau. It proceeded from Grimm, who worded 
it in such a way that it might easily be attributed to Jean-Jacques. 


C152] 


HPAN=*JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


to my heart, with which she must have been so well 
acquainted. She did me justice, but not immediately. 
Ï understood that an examination of the packet I had 
given her made her perceive her error. I saw she re- 
proached herself with it, by which I regained something. 
She could not take back her letters without returning 
me mine. She told me she had burned them: of this I 
dared to doubt im my turn, and I confess I doubt of it at 
this moment. No; such letters are never thrown in- 
to the frre. Those of Julie have been found ardent. 
Heavens! what would have been said of these? No, no; 
she who can imspire a like passion will never have the 
courage to burn the proofs of it. But I am not afraid of 
her having made a bad use of them: of this I do not 
think her capable; and, besides, [I had taken proper 
measures to prevent it. The foolish but strong appre- 
hension of raïllery had made me begin this correspond- 
ence in a manner to secure my letters from all communi- 
cation. [ carried the familiarity Î permitted myself 
with her in my intoxication so far as to address her in 
the simgular number: but what theeing and thouing! she 
certaimly could not be offended with it. Yet she several 
times complamed, but this was always useless: her 
complaints had no other effect than that of awakening 
my fears, and I, besides, could not suffer myself to lose 
ground. If these letters be not yet destroyed, and should 
they ever be made public, the world will see in what 
manner ÎÏ have loved.! 

The grief caused me by the coldness of Madame 
d'Houdetot, and the certainty of not having deserved it, 
made me take the singular resolution to complain of it 
to Saint-Lambert himself. While waiting the effect of 


1 Madame d’'Houdetot is saïd to have kept back four of these epistles, 
which she gave to Saint-Lambert, who afterwards burned them. One of 
them was published by Musset-Pathay in Rousseau’s Correspondance. 


C153] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


the letter [ wrote to him on the subject, I sought dissipa- 
tions to which [ ought sooner to have had recourse. 
Fêtes were given at La Chevrette, for which I composed 
music. The pleasure of honouring myself im the eyes of 
Madame d’'Houdetot by a talent she loved warmed my 
imagination; and another object contributed to give it 
still more animation: this was the desire the author of 
Le Devin du Village had of showing he understood music; 
for I had perceived that some persons had, for a con- 
siderable time past, endeavoured to render this doubt- 
ful, at least with respect to composition.. My beginning 
at Paris, the ordeal through which I had repeatedly 
passed there, both at the house of Monsieur Dupin and 
of Monsieur de la Poplinière; the quantity of music I 
had composed during fourteen years in the midst of the 
most celebrated masters and before their eyes; finally, 
the opera of the Muses Galantes, and even that of Le 
Devin; a motet [I had composed for Mademoiselle Fel, 
and which she had sung at the Concert Spirituel; the 
frequent conferences [ had had upon this fine art with the 
frst composers, all seemed to prevent or dissipate a 
doubt of such a nature. This, however, existed even at 
La Chevrette, and m the mind of Monsieur d’Epinay 
himself, Without appearing to observe it, [| undertook 
to compose for him a motet for the dedication of the 
Chapel of La Chevrette, and [ begged him to make 
choice of the words. He directed De Linant, his son’s 
tutor, to furnish me with these. De Linant gave me 
words proper to the subject, and in a week after I had 
received them the motet was finished. This time spite 
was my Apollo, and never did more intelligent music 
come from my hand. The words began with: “Ecce 
sedes hic Tonantis! The grandeur of the opening 1s 


1 ] have since learned these were by Santeuil, and that Monsieur de 
Linant had quietly appropriated them to himself, — R,. 


C154] 


DEAN=TAGQUES "ROUSSEAU 


suitable to the words, and the rest of the motet is so ele- 
gantly harmonious that every one was struck with it. 
1 had composed it for a great orchestra. D’Épinay pro- 
cured the best symphonists. Madame Bruna, an Italian 
singer, sang the motet, and was well accompanied. The 
composition succeeded so well that it was afterwards 
performed at the Concert Spirituel, where, Im spite of 
secret cabals and poor execution, it was twice generally 
applauded. I gave, for the birthday of Monsieur d’ Épi- 
nay, the idea of a kind of piece half dramatic and half 
pantomimical, which Madame d’'Epinay worked out, and 
for which I supplied the music. Grimm, on his arrival, 
heard some talk of my musical success. An hour after- 
wards not a word more was said upon the subject; but 
there no longer remained a doubt — not at least that I 
know of — of my knowledge of composition. 

} Grimm was scarcely arrived at La Chevrette — where 
already I did not find much amusement — before he 
made it imsupportable to me by airs [| never before saw 
in any person, and of which I had no idea. The evening 
before he came I was dislodged from the best visitor’s 
chamber, contiguous to that of Madame d’Épinay; it 
was prepared for Grimm, and, instead of it, ÎÏ was put 
into another further off. “Behold, said I laughingly to 
Madame d’Épinay, ‘how new-comers displace the old.’ 
She seemed embarrassed. Î was better acquainted the 
same evening with the reason for the change, in learnmg 
that between her chamber and that I had quitted there 
was a secret door which she had thought needless to show 
to me. Her mtercourse with Grimm was not unknown 
either in her own house or to the public, not even to her 
husband; yet, far from confessing it to me, the confidant 
of secrets more important to her, and which she was sure 
would be faithfully kept, she constantly denied it in the 
Strongest manner. Î comprehended that this reserve 


C155] 


FHE' CONFESSION SIN 


proceeded from Grimm, who, though intrusted with all 
my secrets, did not choose I should be the depositary of 
any of his. 

However prejudiced [I was in favour of this man by 
former sentiments, which were not extimguished, and by 
the real merit he had, all was not proof against the care 
he took to destroy it. He received me like the Comte de 
Tuffière;! he scarcely deigned to return my salute; he 
never once spoke to me, and soon showed me that I 
must not speak to him by not making me any answer; 
he everywhere passed first, and took the first place, with- 
out ever paying me the least attention. AI this would 
have been supportable had he not accompanied it with 
a shocking aflectation, which may be judged of by one 
example taken from a hundred. One evening Madame 
d’'Épinay, finding herself a little indisposed, ordered some 
trifle for her supper to be carried imto her chamber, and 
went upstairs to sup by the side of the fire. She asked 
me to go with her, which I did. Grimm came afterwards. 
The little table was already placed, and there were but 
two covers. Supper was served: Madame d’Épinay 
took her place on one side of the fire; Grimm took an 
arm-chair, seated himself at the other, drew the little 
table between them, opened his napkin, and prepared 
himself for eating without speaking to me a single word. 
Madame d’Épinay blushed at his behaviour, and, to 
induce him to repair his rudeness, offered me her place. 
He said nothing, nor did he even look at me. Not bemg 
able to approach the fire I walked about the chamber 
until a cover was brought. Indisposed as I was, older 
than himself, longer acquainted in the house than he had 
been, the person who had imtroduced him there, and to 
whom, as favourite of the lady, he ought to have done 
the honours of it, he suffered me to sup at the end of the 


1 A character in Destouches’ comedy Le Glorieux. 


C156] 


JEAN=-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


table, at a distance from the fire, without showing me 
the least civility. His whole behaviour to me corre- 
sponded with this example of it. He did not treat me 
precisely as his inferior, but he looked upon me as a 
cipher. [ could scarcely recognise the same cuistre who, 
in the house of the Prince de Saxe-Gotha, thought him- 
self honoured when I cast my eyes upon him. I had still 
more difhiculty im reconcilimg this profound silence and 
insulting haughtiness with the tender friendship he pro- 
fessed for me to those whom he knew to be real friends. 
It is true the only proofs he gave of it was pityimg my 
wretched fortune, of which I did not complain; com- 
passionating my sad fate, with which I was satisfied; 
and lamenting to see me obstinately refuse the benevo- 
lent services that he said he wished to render me. Thus 
was it that he artfully made the world admire his affec- 
tionate generosity, blame my ungrateful misanthropy, 
and imsensibly accustomed people to imagine there was 
nothing more between a protector like him and a poor 
creature like myself than a connection founded upon 
benefactions on one part and obligations on the other, 
without once thinking of a friendship between equals. 
For my part, I have vainly sought to discover in what 
way Î was under an obligation to this new protector. I 
had lent him money, he had never lent me any; I had 
attended him in his 1llness, he scarcely came to see me in 
mine; I had given him all my friends, he never had given 
me any of his. Ï had said everything I could in his 
favour, and he — if ever he has spoken of me, it has been 
less publicly and in another manner. He has never 
either rendered or offered me the least service of any 
kind. How, therefore, was he my Mæcenas? In what 
manner was Î protected by him? This was imcompre- 
hensible to me, and still remains so. 

It is true, he was more or less arrogant with every- 


C157] 


THE CONFESSIONSNOR 


body, but with none so brutally as with me. [ remember 
Saint-Lambert once ready to throw a plate at his head, 
upon his indirectly giving him the lie at the table by 
vulgarly saying, ‘That is not true” With his naturally 
imperious manner, he had the self-sufficiency of an up- 
start, and became ridiculous by being extravagantly 
impertinent. An intercourse with the great had so far 
intoxicated him that he gave himself airs which none 
but the least intelligent among them ever assume. He 
never called his lackey but by “Eh!” as if, amongst the 
number of his servants, my lord had not known which 
was in waiting. When he sent him to buy anything, he 
threw the money upon the ground instead of putting it 
into his hand. In short, entirely forgetting he was a 
man, he treated him with such shockimg contempt and 
so cruel a disdain in everything, that the poor lad, a very 
good creature, whom Madame d’Epinay had recom- 
mended, quitted his service without any other complaint 
than that of the impossibility of enduring such treat- 
ment. This was the La Fleur of this new Glorieux. 

As foolish as he was vain, with his great wandering 
eyes and his misshapen countenance, he posed as an ad- 
mirer of the ladies; and after the farce that he enacted 
when rejected by Mademoiselle Fel, he passed with 
many of them for a man of noble sentiments. This had 
obtained for him a certain vogue, and had given him a 
taste for effeminate neatness: he began to act the beau; 
his toilette became an affair of much importance; all 
the world knew that he used cosmetics; and I, who at 
first refused to credit this, commenced to believe it, not 
only because of his fine colour, and from having observed 
receptacles for white ceruse on his dressing-table, but 
from finding him engaged on my entrance one morning 
in rubbing his naïls with a little brush, made for the 
purpose, a task which he continued to perform in my 


C158] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


presence. Î was of opinion that a man who could spend 
two hours daily in rubbing his naïls was very likely to 
spend a few minutes im filling up the wrimkles im his 
skin. The bonhomme Gauffecourt, who was by no means 
malicious, had, not unhappily, given him the nickname 
of Tiran le Blanc. 

AIT these things were nothing more than ridiculous, but, 
bemg quite opposite to my character, they contributed 
to render his suspicious to me. [I could easily imagine 
that a man whose head was so much deranged could not 
have a heart well placed. He piqued himself upon noth- 
ing so much as upon sensibility of mind and true senti- 
ment. How could this agree with defects which are 
peculiar to little minds? How can the contimued over- 
flowings of a susceptible heart suffer it to be incessantly 
employed im so many little cares relative to the person? 
Heaven knows that he who feels his heart inflamed with 
this celestial fire strives to diffuse it, and wishes to show 
what he internally is. He would wish to place his heart 
in his countenance, and could not conceive of other paint 
for his cheeks. 

Ï remembered the summary of his morality which 
Madame d’Epinay had mentioned to me and adopted. 
This consisted im one single article: that the sole duty of 
man is to follow all the inclinations of his heart. This 
morality, when [ heard it mentioned, gave me great 
matter of reflection, although [I at first considered it 
solely as a play of wit. But [I soon perceived that this 
principle was really the rule of his conduct, of which I 
afterwards had, at my cost, but too many convincing 
proofs. This is the interior doctrine that Diderot has so 
frequently intimated to me, but which [ never heard 
him explain. 

Î remember having several years before been fre- 
quently told that this man was false, that he had nothing 


C 159 ] 


THE: CONFESSIONS 


more than the appearance of sentiment, and particularly 
that he did not love me. I recollected several little anec- 
dotes which I had heard of him from Monsieur de Fran- 
cueil and Madame de Chenonceaux, neither of whom 
esteemed him, and to whom he must have been known, 
as Madame de Chenonceaux was daughter to Madame 
de Rochechouart, the intimate friend of the late Comte 
de Friese, and that Monsieur de Francueil, at that time 
very intimate with the Vicomte de Polignac, had lived 
a good deal at the Palais-Royal precisely when Grimm 
began to introduce himself there. AÏl Paris heard of his 
despair after the death of the Vicomte de Friese. It was 
necessary to support the reputation he had acquired after 
the rigours of Mademoiselle Fel, and of which I, more 
than any other person, should have seen the imposture 
had I then been less blind. He had to be dragged to the 
Hôtel de Castries, where he worthily played his part, 
abandoned to the most mortal affliction. ‘There he 
every mornimg went into the garden to weep at his 
ease, holding before his eyes his handkerchief moïistened 
with tears as long as he was in sight of the hotel; but, 
at the turning of a certain alley, people of whom he little 
thought saw him instantly put his handkerchief into his 
pocket and take out a book. This observation, which 
was repeatedly made, soon became public in Paris, and 
was almost as soon forgotten. I[ myself had forgotten it 
— a circumstance in which [ was concerned brought it to 
my recollection. [I was at the point of death in my bed 
in the Rue de Grenelle; he was im the country; he came 
one morning, quite out of breath, to see me, saying he had 
arrived im town that very instant; a moment afterwards 
Ï learned that he had arrived the evening before, and 
had been seen at the theatre. 

I heard a thousand things of the same kind; but an 
observation, which [ was surprised not to have made 


CL 160 | 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


sooner, struck me more than everything else. I had 
given to Grimm all my friends without exception; they 
were become his. Î was so inseparable from him that 
I should have had some difficulty im continuing to visit 
at a house where he was not received. Madame de 
Créqui was the only person who refused to admit him 
into her company, and whom, for that reason, I have 
seldom seen since. Grimm, on his part, made himself 
other friends, as well by his own means as by those of the 
Comte de Friese. Of all these, not one of them ever 
became my friend; he never said a word to imduce me 
even to become acquainted with them, and not one of 
those [ sometimes met at his apartments ever showed me 
the least good-will; the Comte de Friese, nm whose house 
he lived, and with whom it consequently would have 
been agreeable to me to form some connection, not 
excepted, nor the Comte de Schomberg, his relation, 
with whom Grimm was still more intimate. 

More than this, my own friends, whom I made his, 
and who were all tenderly attached to me before this 
acquaintance, were sensibly changed the moment it was 
made. He never gave me one of his; I gave him all 
mine, and he ended by taking them all from me. If these 
be the effects of friendship, what are those of enmity? 

Diderot himself told me several times at the beginning 
that Grimm, in whom I had so much confidence, was not 
my friend. He changed his language subsequently, when 
he was no longer so himself. 

The manner in which [ had disposed of my children 
wanted not the concurrence of any person. Yet [I in- 
formed some of my friends of 1t, solely to make it known 
to them, and that [ might not in their eyes appear better 
than I was. These friends were three in number — 
Diderot, Grimm, and Madame d’Epinay. Duclos, the 
most worthy of my confidence, was the only real friend 


Bolnl 


THE CONFESSIONS 


whom I did not inform of it. He nevertheless knew what 
I had done. By whom? I know not. It is not very 
probable that the perfidy came from Madame d’Épinay, 
who knew that by following her example, had I been 
capable of doing it, Ï had in my power the means of a 
cruel revenge. Ît remains, therefore, between Grimm and 
Diderot, then so much united, especially against me, and 
it is probable that this crime was common to them both. 
I would lay a wager that Duclos, to whom I never told 
my secret, and who consequently was under no restraint, 
is the only person who has not disclosed it. 

Grimm and Diderot, in their project to take from 
me the gouverneuses, had used the greatest efforts to 
make Duclos enter into their views; this he disdainfully 
refused to do. It was not until some time afterwards 
that I learned from him what had passed between them 
on the subject; but I learned at the time from Thérèse 
enough to perceive that there was some secret design, 
and that they wished to dispose of me, if not against my 
own consent, at least without my knowledge, or had an 
intention of making these two persons serve as instru- 
ments of some project they had im view. This was far 
from upright conduct. The opposition of Duclos is a 
convincing proof of it. They who think proper may be- 
leve it to be friendship. 

This pretended friendship was as fatal to me at home 
as it was abroad. The long and frequent conversations 
with Madame Le Vasseur for several years past had 
made a sensible change in this woman’s behaviour to me, 
and the change was far from bemg im my favour. What 
was the subject of these singular conversations? Why 
such a profound mystery? Was the conversation of that 
old woman agreeable enough to take her into favour;, 
and of sufficient importance to make it so great a secret? 
During the two or three years these colloquies had, from 


[Tr 622] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


time to time, been continued, they had appeared to me 
ridiculous; but when I thought of them again, they be- 
gan to astonish me. This astonishment would have been 
carried to imquietude had I then known what this old 
woman was preparing for me. 

Notwithstanding the pretended zeal for my welfare of 
which Grimm made such a public boast, difficult to recon- 
cile with the airs he gave himself when we were together, 
I heard nothing of him from any quarter the least to my 
advantage, and his feigned commiseration tended less to 
do me service than to render me contemptible. He de- 
prived me as much as he possibly could of the resource I 
found im the employment I had chosen by decrying me as 
a bad copyist, and I confess that he spoke the truth; but, 
in this case, it was not for him to do it. He proved him- 
self in earnest by employimg another copyist, and by de- 
priving me of as many patrons as he could persuade to 
dismiss me. His intention might have been supposed to 
be that of reducing me to a dependence upon him and 
his credit for subsistence, and to cut off the latter until 
I was brought to that degree of distress. 

AIT thmgs considered, my reason imposed silence upon 
my former prejudice, which still pleaded im his favour. 
I judged his character to be at least suspicious; and with 
_ respect to his friendship, [ positively decided it to be 
false. I then resolved to see him no more, and informed 
Madame d’Epinay of the resolution [ had taken, sup- 
porting it with several unanswerable facts, which I have 
now forgotten. 

She strongly combated my resolution, without know- 
ing how to reply to the reasons on which it was founded. 
She had not concerted with him; but the next day, 
instead of explainimg herself verbally, she gave me a very 
skilfully composed letter they had drawn up together, 
and by which, without entering into a detail of facts, she 


C 163 ] 


THE CONFESSIONSMUE 


justified him by his reserved and meditative character, 
attributed to me as a crime my having suspected him of 
perfidy towards his friend, and exhorted me to come to 
an accommodation with him. This letter staggered me. 
In a conversation we afterwards had together, and m 
which I found her better prepared than she had been 
the first time, [ suffered myself to be quite prevarled 
upon, and was inclined to believe [ might have judged 
erroneously. In this case I thought I really had done a 
friend a very serious injury, which it was my duty to 
repair. In short, as [ had already done several times 
with Diderot and the Baron d’Holbach, half from inclina- 
tion, and half from weakness, [| made all the advances I 
had a right to require. I went to Monsieur Grimm, like 
another George Dandin, to make him my apologies for 
the offence he had given me, still im the false persuasion 
— which, in the course of my life, has made me guilty of 
a thousand meannesses to my pretended friends — that 
there is no hatred which may not be disarmed by mild- 
ness and fair behaviour; whereas, on the contrary, the 
hatred of the wicked becomes still more envenomed by 
the impossibility of findmg anything to found it upon, 
and the sentiment of their own injustice is but another 
cause of offence against the person who is the object of it. 
Ï have, without going further than my own history, a 
very strong proof of this maxim in Grimm and in Tron- 
chim: both become my most implacable enemies from 
mclination, pleasure, and fancy, without having been 
able to charge me with having done either of them the 
most trifling injury,! and whose rage, like that of tigers, 
becomes daily more fierce by the facility of satiating it. 


1 I did not give the surname of Jongleur to the latter until long after 
his declared hostility, and the bitter persecutions he brought upon me 
at Geneva and elsewhere. I even quickly suppressed the name when I 
perceived that I was entirely his victim. Mean vengeance is unworthy 
of my heart, and hatred never takes the least root in it. — R 


C 164 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


Ï expected that Grimm, confused by my condescension 
and advances, would receive me with open arms and the 
most tender friendship. He received me as a Roman 
Emperor would have done, and with a haughtiness I 
never saw in any person but himself. I was by no means 
prepared for such a reception. When, in the embarrass- 
ment of the unaccustomed part I had to act, I had, ma 
few words and with a timid air, fulfilled the object which 
had brought me to him, before he received me into favour 
he pronounced, with a deal of majesty, a harangue that 
he had prepared, and which contained a long enumera- 
tion of his rare virtues, and especially those connected 
with friendship. He laïd great stress upon a thing which 
at first struck me a good deal — this was his having 
always preserved the same friends. Whilst he was yet 
speaking I said to myself it would be cruel for me to be 
the only exception to this rule. He returned to the sub- 
ject so frequently, and with such emphasis, that I thought 
if m this he followed nothing but the sentiments of his 
heart he would be less struck with the maxim, and that 
he made of it an art useful to his views, by procuring the 
means of accomplishimg them. Until then I had been im 
the same situation; Î had preserved all my first friends, 
even from my tenderest infancy, without having lost one 
of them except by death, and yet I had never before 
made the reflection. [It was not a maxim that I had pre- 
scribed to myself. Since, therefore, the advantage was 
common to both, why did he boast of it im preference, 
if he had not previously intended to deprive me of the 
merit? He afterwards endeavoured to humble me by 
proofs of the preference our common friends gave to him 
over me. With this I was as well acquaimnted as himself; 
the question was by what means had he obtamed it — 
whether by merit or address? by exalting himself, or 
endeavouring to abase me? At last, when he had placed 


C165] 


THE /CONFESSEON SES 


between us all the distance that could add to the value of 
the favour he was about to confer, he granted me the 
kiss of peace, in a slight embrace which resembled the 
accolade which the King gives to new-made knights. I 
was stupefñied with surprise; [I knew not what to say; 
not a word could I utter. This whole scene had the ap- 
pearance of the reprimand a preceptor gives to his pupil, 
while he graciously spares the rod. I never think of it 
without perceiving to what degree judgments founded 
upon appearances, to which the vulgar give so much 
weight, are deceitful, and how frequently audacity and 
pride are found in the guilty, and shame and embarrass- 
ment in the innocent. 

We were reconciled. This was a relief to my heart, 
which every kind of quarrel fills with anguish. It will 
naturally be supposed that a reconciliation of this kind 
changed nothing in his manners; all it effected was to 
deprive me of the right of complaining of them. For this 
reason ÎÏ took a resolution to endure everything, and for 
the future to say not a word. 

So many successive vexations overwhelmed me to such 
a degree as to leave me but little power over my mind. 
Receiving no answer from Saint-Lambert, neglected by 
Madame d’Houdetot, and no longer daring to open my 
heart to any person, Î began to be afraid that by making 
friendship my idol I had been sacrificmg my whole life 
to chimeras. Experience proved that of all my intimate 
acqu£intances there remamed but two men who had pre- 
served my esteem, and in whom my heart could confide: 
Duclos, of whom since my retreat to the Hermitage I had 
lost sight, and Saint-Lambert. I thought the only means 
of repairing the wrongs I had done the latter was to un- 
bosom myself without reserve; and I resolved to confess 
to him everything, taking care, however, that his mis- 
tress should not be compromised. I have no doubt but 


C166%70 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


this was another snare of my passion to keep me nearer 
to her person; but I should certainly have had no reserve 
with her lover, entirely submitting to his direction, and 
carrying sincerity as far as it was possible to doit. I was 
on the point of writing to him a second letter, to which I 
was certain he would have returned an answer, when I 
learned the melancholy cause of his silence relative to the 
first. He had been unable to support until the end the 
fatigues of the campaign. Madame d’Epimay informed 
me that he had had an attack of the palsy, and Madame 
d'Houdetot, whose affliction was so great that she her- 
self became ill, and was unable to reply at once, wrote to 
me two or three days afterwards from Paris, saying that 
he was gomg to Aix-la-Chapelle to take the benefit of the 
waters. [ will not say that this melancholy circumstance 
aficted me as it did her; but Ï am of opinion that my 
grief of heart was as painful as her tears. The pain of 
knowing him to be in such a state, increased by the fear 
lest inquietude should have contributed to occasion it, 
affected me more than anything that had yet happened, 
and I felt most cruelly a want of fortitude, which im my 
estimation was necessary to enable me to support so 
many misfortunes. Happily this generous friend did not 
long leave me so greatly overwhelmed: he did not forget 
me, notwithstanding his attack; and I soon learned from 
himself that I had 1ll-judged his sentiments, and been 
too much alarmed for his situation. Ît is now time to 
come to the grand revolution of my destiny, to the 
catastrophe which has divided my life into two parts so 
different from each other, and which, from a very triflmg 
cause, produced such terrible effects. 

One day, little thinking of what was to happen, 
Madame d’Épinay sent for me. The moment [ saw her I 
perceived in her eyes and whole countenance an appear- 
ance of uneasiness, which struck me the more as this was 


C 167 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS ANR 


not customary, nobody knowing better than she did how 
to govern their features and movements. “My friend,’ 
said she to me, ‘I am going to set off for Geneva; my 
chest is in a bad state, and my health is so deranged that 
I must go and consult Tronchin.” Î was the more aston- 
ished at this resolution, so suddenly taken, and at the 
beginning of the bad season of the year, as thirty-six 
hours before she had not, when I left her, said anything 
of the matter. I asked her whom she would take with 
her. She said her son and Monsieur de Linant; and 
afterwards carelessiy added, ‘And you, my dear bear, will 
not you go also?” As I did not think she spoke seriously, 
knowing that at that season of the year [ was scarcely in 
a situation to leave my chamber, Î jested upon the 
utility of the company of one sick person to another. 
She herself had not seemed to make the proposition 
seriously, and here the matter dropped. The rest of our 
conversation ran upon the necessary preparations for her 
Journey, about which she busied herself eagerly, being 
determined to set off within a fortnight. 

Ï needed little penetration to perceive that some cir- 
cumstance which was concealed from me was the secret 
motive of this journey. This cireumstance — which was 
no secret to any one in the house save me — was dis- 
covered next day by Thérèse, to whom Tessier, the maître 
d'hôtel, who had learned it from the femme de chambre, 
revealed 1t.! Though under no obligation to Madame 
d’'Épinay to keep this secret, as I was not told it by her, 
it 1s too closely related to others that were confided to me 
to permit a disentanglement; on this head I shall there- 
fore be mute. But these secrets, which never have been 


1 Madame d’Epinay was then enceinte. The motives for Grimm’s 
conduct at this juncture, and other circumstances that our author leaves 
unexplained, are fully set forth in Musset-Pathay’s Histoire de la. Vie 
de Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Paris, 1827 — a work which gives the result 
of much acuteness and research. 


[ 168 ] 


REANETAGQUESUROUSSE AU 


and never will be disclosed by me either in speech or 
writing, have been known to so many persons that none 
in Madame d’Épinay’s circle can be ignorant of them. 

Had I been informed respecting the true motive of this 
journey, [ should have detected the hidden action of a 
hostile hand in the attempt to make me play the chaperon 
to Madame d’Épinay; but she had pressed the matter so 
faintly that [ persisted in refusing to regard the project 
seriously, and only laughed at the fine figure I should 
have cut had I been so foolish as to acquiesce. However, 
she was a gamer by my refusal, for she succeeded in 
getting her husband to accompany her. 

À few days afterwards [I received from Diderot the 
note Ï am going to transcribe. This note, simply doubled 
up, so that the contents could be easily read, was ad- 
dressed to me at Madame d’Epinay’s and sent to the 
care of Monsieur de Linant, tutor to the son and confi- 
dant to the mother. 


NOTE FROM DiIDEROT (A, No. 52). 


‘I am naturally disposed to love you, and am born to give 
you trouble. I am informed that Madame d’Épinay is going 
to Geneva, and do not hear that you are to accompany her. 
My friend, 1f you are satisfied with Madame d’Epmay, you 
must go with her; if dissatisfed, you ought still less to hesitate. 
Do you find the weight of the obligations you have received 
from her burdensome to you? This is an opportunity of dis- 
charging a part of them, and relievmg your mind. Do you 
ever expect another opportunity like the present one of giving 
her proofs of your gratitude? She is going to a country where 
she will be quite a stranger. She is ill, and will stand in need 
of amusement and dissipation. The winter season too — con- 
sider, my friend. Your ill state of health may be a much 
greater objection than I thmk it is; but are you now more 
mdisposed than you were a month ago, or than you will be at 
the beginning of spring? Will you, three months hence, be 
in a situation to perform the journey more comfortably than 
at present? For my part, I cannot but observe to you that 


C 160 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS "Of 


were Ï unable to bear the shaking of the carriage, I would take 
my staff and follow her. Have you no fears too lest your 
conduct should be misinterpreted? You will be suspected of 
imgratitude or of some other secret motive. I well know that, 
let you do as you will, you will have im your favour the testi- 
mony of your conscience; but will this alone be sufficient, 
and is it permitted to neglect to a certain degree the opinion of 
others? What I now write, my good friend, is to acquit myself 
of what I think I owe to us both. Should my letter displease 
you, throw it into the fire and forget that it was ever written. 
Ï salute, love, and embrace you.’ 


Although trembling and almost blind with rage whilst 
Ï read this epistle, so much so, imdeed, that I could hardly 
finish it, Î| remarked the address with which Diderot 
affected a milder and more polite language than he had 
done in his former ones, wherein he never went farther 
than ‘my dear, without ever deigning to add the name 
of “friend.” I easily discovered the second-hand means by 
which the letter was conveyed to me; the superscription, 
manner, and form awkwardly betrayed the manœuvre, 
for we commonly wrote to each other by post, or by the 
Montmorency messenger, and this was the first and only 
time he sent me his letter by this channel. | 

As soon as the first transports of my Imdignation per- 
mitted me to write, I, with great precipitation, wrote 
him the following answer, which I immediately carried 
from the Hermitage, where I then was, to La Chevrette, 
to show it to Madame d’Epimay, to whom in my blind 
rage Î desired to read the contents, as well as the letter 
from Diderot. 


‘You cannot, my dear friend, either know the magnitude 
of the obligations I am under to Madame d’Épinay, to what 
a degree I am bound by them, whether she is desirous of my 
accompanyimg her, whether this is possible, or the reasons I 
may have for my non-compliance. I have no objection to 
discuss all these points with you; but you will in the mean- 
time confess that prescribing to me so positively what I ought 


C170] 


JEAN=-JACQUES:ROUSSEAU 


to do, without first enabling yourself to judge of the matter, 
is, my dear philosopher, acting most inconsiderately. What is 
still worse, [ perceive the opimion you give comes not from 
yourself. Besides my being but little disposed to suffer myself 
to be led by the nose under your name by any third or fourth 
person, Î observe im this secondary advice certam underhand 
dealing, which 1ll agrees with your candour, and from which 
you will, on your account as well as mine, do well in future to 
abstain. 

‘You are afraid my conduct should be misinterpreted, 
but I defy a heart like yours to think 1ll of mine. Others 
would, perhaps, speak better of me if I resembled them more. 
God preserve me from gaining their approbation! Let the 
vile and wicked watch over my conduct and misinterpret my 
actions, Rousseau is not a man to be afraid of them, nor is 
Diderot one to hearken to them. 

‘If I am displeased with your letter, you wish me to throw 
it into the fire, and pay no attention to the contents. Do you 
imagine that anything coming from you can be forgotten im 
such a manner? You hold, my dear friend, my tears as cheap 
im the pain you give me as you do my life and health in the 
cares you exhort me to undertake. Could you but break 
yourself of this your friendship would be more pleasing to me, 
and I should be less to be pitied.’ 


On entering the chamber of Madame d’Épinay I 
found Grimm with her, at which I was highly delighted. 
Ï read to them, im a loud and clear voice, the two letters, 
with an mtrepidity of which I should not have thought 
. myself capable, and concluded with a few observations 
not out of keeping with it. At this unexpected audacity 
in a man generally timid they were struck dumb with 
surprise. Î percerved that arrogant man [ook down upon 
the ground, not daring to meet my eyes, which sparkled 
with indignation; but in the bottom of his heart he from 
that instant resolved upon my destruction, and Ï am 
certain that they concerted measures to that effect before 
they separated. 

It was much about this time that I at length received, 


Cu 


THE CONFESSIONS» 


through Madame d’Houdetot, the answer from Saint- 
Lambert (A, No. 57) — dated from Wolfenbuttel, a few 
days after his accident — to my letter, which had been 
long delayed upon the road. This answer gave me the 
consolation of which I then stood so much in need; it 
was full of assurance of esteem and friendship, and these 
gave me strength and courage to deserve them. From 
that moment [ did my duty; but certainly had Saint- 
Lambert been less reasonable, generous, and honest, I 
was inevitably lost. 

The season became bad, and people began to quit the 
country. Madame d’Houdetot imformed me of the day 
on which she intended to come and bid adieu to the 
valley, and gave me a rendezvous at Eaubonne. This 
happened to be the same day on which Madame d’Épinay 
left La Chevrette to go to Paris for the purpose of com- 
pletimg the preparations for her Journey. Fortunately 
she set off in the morning, and I had still time to go and 
dine with her sister-Im-[law. I had the letter from Saint- 
Lambert im my pocket, and read it over several times as 
I walked along. This letter served me as a shield against 
my weakness. [I made and kept to the resolution of see- 
ing nothing in Madame d’'Houdetot but my friend and 
the mistress of Saint-Lambert, and I passed four or five 
hours in a most delicious calm, infinitely preferable, even 
with respect to enjoyment, to those attacks of a burning 
fever which always, until that moment, I had had when 
in her presence. As she too well knew that my heart was 
not changed, she was sensible of the efforts [| made to 
conquer myself, and esteemed me the more for them, 
and Ï had the pleasure of percerving that her friendship 
for me was not extinguished. She announced to me the 
approaching return of Saint-Lambert, who, although 
fairly recovered from his attack, was unable to bear the 
fatigues of war, and was quitting the service, to come and 


C172] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


live in peace with her. We formed the charming project 
of an intimate connection among us three, and had reason 
to hope that it would be lasting, since it was founded upon 
every sentiment by which honest and susceptible hearts 
could be united; and we had moreover amongst us all 
the knowledge and talents necessary to be sufficient to 
ourselves, without the aid of any foreign supplement. 
Alas! in abandoning myself to the hope of so agreeable a 
life, I little suspected that which awaited me. 

We afterwards spoke of my situation with Madame 
d'Épinay. I showed her the letter from Diderot, with 
my answer to it; [ related to her everything that had 
passed upon the subject, and declared to her my resolu- 
tion of quitting the Hermitage. This she vehemently 
opposed, and by reasons all-powerful over my heart. 
She expressed to me how much she could have wished I 
had been of the party to Geneva, foreseeing she should 
mevitably be considered as having caused the refusal, 
which the letter of Diderot seemed previously to an- 
nounce. However, as she was as well aware of my reasons 
as Ï myself, she did not imsist upon this point, but con- 
jured me to avoid coming to an open rupture, let it cost 
me what mortification it would, and to palliate my re- 
fusal by reasons sufficiently plausible to banish all unjust 
suspicions of her having been the cause of it. I told her 
the task she imposed on me was not easy, but that, re- 
solved to expiate my fault at the expense of my reputa- 
tion, Ï would give the preference to hers im everythmg 
that honour permitted me to suffer. [It will soon be seen 
whether or not I fulfilled this engagement. 

My passion was so far from having lost any part of its 
force, that I never in my life loved my Sophie so ardently 
and tenderly as on that day; but such was the impression 
made upon me by the letter of Saint-Lambert, the senti- 
ment of my duty, and the horror im which I held perfidy, 


C173] 


THE: CONHESSTONSANE 


that during the whole time of the interview my senses 
left me in peace, and [I was not so much as tempted to 
kiss her hand. At parting she embraced me before her 
servants. This embrace, so different from those [I had 
sometimes stolen from her under the foliage, proved that 
Ï was become master of myself; and Ï am certain that 
had my mind, undisturbed, had time to acquire more 
frrmness, three months would have cured me radically. 

Here end my personal connections with Madame 
d’'Houdetot — connections of which each has been able 
to Judge by appearances according to the disposition of 
his own heart, but in which the passion inspired in me by 
that amiable woman, the most lively passion perhaps 
that man ever felt, will be honourable im our own con- 
sciences by the rare and painful sacrifice we both made 
to duty, honour, love, and friendship. We each had too 
high an opinion of the other easily to suffer ourselves to 
do anything derogatory to our dignity. We must have 
been unworthy of all esteem had we not set a proper value 
upon one like this; and the very energy of the senti- 
ments which might have rendered us culpable was that 
which prevented us from becoming so. 

Thus after a long friendship for one of these women, 
and the strongest affection for the other, I bade them 
both adieu on the same day — to one, never to see her 
more; to the other, to see her again but twice, upon 
occasions of which I shall hereafter speak. 

After their departure, I found myself much embar- 
rassed to fulfil so many pressing and contradictory 
duties, the consequences of my imprudence. Had I been 
in my natural situation, after the proposition and refusal 
of the journey to Geneva, I had only to remain quiet, 
and everythmg was as it should be. But I had foohshly 
made of it an affair which could not remain in the state 
it was, and an explanation was absolutely necessary, 


C174] 


HBAN=YACQUES ROUSSEAU 


unless I quitted the Hermitage, which I had just promised 
Madame d’'Houdetot not to do, at least for the present. 
Moreover, she had required me to make known the 
reasons for my refusal to my pretended friends, that it 
might not be imputed to her. Yet I could not state 
the true reason without doing an outrage to Madame 
d'Epinay, who certainly had a right to my gratitude for 
what she had done for me. Everythmg well considered, 
I found myself reduced to the severe but indispensable 
necessity of failing in respect either to Madame d’Épinay, 
to Madame d’Houdetot, or to myself, and it was the 
last whom I resolved to make my victim. This I did 
without hesitation, openly and fully, and with so much 
generosity as to make the act worthy of expiating the 
faults which had reduced me to such an extremity. This 
sacrifice, taken advantage of by my enemies, and which 
they perhaps expected, has ruined my reputation, and, 
by their assiduity, deprived me of the esteem of the 
public; but it has restored to me my own, and given me 
consolation in my misfortunes. This, as will hereafter 
appear, is not the last time I made such a sacrifice, nor 
that advantage was taken of it to do me an mjury. 
Grimm was the only person who appeared to have 
taken no part im the affair, and it was to him that I de- 
termined to address myself. I wrote him a long letter, 
im which I set forth the ridiculousness of considering it 
as my duty to accompany Madame d’'Epmay to Geneva, 
the imutility of the measure, and the embarrassment even 
it would have caused her, besides the inconvenience to 
myself. I could not resist the temptation of letting him 
perceive in this letter how fully Ï was mformed, and that 
to me it appeared singular I should be expected to under- 


take the journey while he himself dispensed with it, and 


that his name was never mentioned. This letter, where- 
in, on account of my not being able clearly to state my 


C175] 


THE ,;CONFESSTONSENR 


reasons, Ï was often obliged to wander from the text, 
would have rendered me culpable in the eyes of the 
public; but it was a model of reservedness and discre- 
tion for the people who, like Grimm, were fully ac- 
quainted with the things I forbore to mention, and which 
completely justified my conduct. [ did not even hesi- 
tate to raise another prejudice against myself im attribut- 
mg the advice of Diderot to my other friends. This I 
did to insinuate that Madame d’Houdetot had been of 
the same opinion, as she really was; and in not mention- 
mg that, upon the reasons I gave her, she thought differ- 
ently, Î could not better remove the suspicion of her 
having connived at my proceedings than by appearing 
dissatisfied with her behaviour. 

This letter was concluded by an act of confidence 
which would have had an effect upon any other man, for, 
im desiring Grimm to weigh my reasons and afterwards 
to give me his opinion, [ imformed him that, let this be 
what it would, I should act accordingly — and such was 
my intention, had he even thought I ought to set off; 
for, Monsieur d’'Epmay having appomted himself the con- 
ductor of his wife, my going with them would then have 
had a different appearance, whereas it was I who, im the 
first place, was asked to take upon me that employment, 
and he was out of the question until after my refusal. 

The answer from Grimm was slow in coming. Ît was 
singular enough, on which account [ will here transcribe 
it. (See À, No. 50.) 


‘ “The departure of Madame d’Épinay is postponed. Her 
son is ill, and it is necessary to wait until his health is re-estab- 
lished. I will consider the contents of your letter. Remain 
quiet at your Hermitage. I will send you my opinion in good 
time. As she will certainly not set off for some days there is 
no immediate occasion for it. In the meantime you may, 
if you think proper, make her your offers, although this to 


CL 176 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


me seems a matter of imdifference. For, knowing your situa- 
tion as well as you do yourself, I doubt not of her returning 
to your offers such an answer as she ought to do; and all the 
advantage which, im my opinion, can result from this will be 
your having it in your power to say to those by whom-you may 
be importuned that your not being of the travelling party was 
not for want of offers made to that effect. Moreover, I do 
not see why you will absolutely have it that the philosopher 
is the speaking-trumpet of all the world, nor, because he is 
of opiniôn that you ought to go, why you should imagine that 
all your friends think as he does. If you write to Madame 
d’'Épinay her answer will be yours to all your friends, since 
you have it so much at heart to give them all an answer. Adieu. 
I embrace Madame Le Vasseur and Le Criminel. ! 


Stricken with astonishment at reading this letter, I 
vainly endeavoured to find out what it meant. How- 
ever, imstead of answering me with simplicity, he took 
time to consider of what I had written, as if the time he 
had already taken were not sufficient. He intimates 
even the state of suspense m which he wishes to keep me, 
as if a profound problem were to be resolved, or that it 
was of importance to his views to deprive me of every 
means of comprehending his intentions until the moment 
when he should think proper to make them known. What 
therefore did he mean by these precautions, delays, and 
mysteries? Is it thus that confidence should be recipro- 
cated? Is this manner of actimg consistent with honour 
and uprightness? Î vainly sought for some favourable 
interpretation of his conduct. It was impossible to find 
one. Whatever his design might be, were this inimical 
to me, his situation facilitated the execution of it without 
its bemg possible for me In mine to oppose the least 
obstacle. Enjoying favour im the house of a great prince, 

1 Monsieur Le Vasseur, whose wife governed him rather rudely, called 


her the ‘Lieutenant-Criminel.” Grimm jestingly gave the same name 
to the daughter, and, by way of abridgment, was pleased to retrench 


the first word. 
Eér772] 


THE CONFESSIONS 


having an extensive acquaintance, and giving the tone to 
common circles of which he was the oracle, he had it in 
his power, with his usual address, to dispose everything 
as he pleased; and I, alone in my Hermitage, far removed 
from all society, without the benefit of advice, and hav- 
ing no communication with the world, had nothing to 
do but to wait in peace. AÏÎl I did was to write to 
Madame d’EÉpinay upon the illness of her son as polite a 
letter as could be written, but in which I did not fall 
into the snare of offering to accompany her to Geneva. 

After waiting for a [long time in the cruel uncertainty 
into which that barbarous man had plunged me, I learned, 
at the expiration of eight or ten days, that Madame 
d'Épmay had set off, and received from him a second 
letter. Ît contained not more than seven or eight lines, 
which I did not entirely read. It was a rupture, but in 
such terms as the most infernal hatred only can dictate, 
and these became unmeaning by the excessive degree of 
acrimony with which he wished to charge them. He for- 
bade me his presence as he would have forbidden me his 
states. AÏl that was wanting to his letter to make it 
laughable was that it should be read over with coolness. 
Without taking a copy of it, or reading the whole of the 
contents, Î returned it him immediately, accompanied by 
the following note: — 


‘I refused to admit the force of the just reasons that I 
had for distrust. Now, when it is too late, I am become suf- 
ficiently acquainted with your character. 

‘This then 1s the letter upon which you took time to medi- 
tate. I return it to you; it is not for me. You may show mine 
to the whole world, and hate me openly. This on your part 
will be a falsehood the less.’ 


My tellmg him that he might show my preceding 
letter related to an article im his by which his profound 
address throughout the whole affair may be judged of. 


C178 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


I have observed that my letter might inculpate me in 
the eyes of persons unacquainted with the particulars of 
what had passed. This he was delighted to discover; 
but how was he to take advantage of it without 
exposing himself? By showing the letter he ran the 
risk of being reproached for abusing the confidence of 
his friend. 

To relieve himself from this embarrassment he resolved 
to break with me mm the most pointed manner possible, 
and to set forth in his letter the favour he did me in not 
showing mine. He was certaim that in my mdignation 
and anger I should refuse his feigned discretion, and per- 
mit him to show my letter to everybody. This was what 
he wished for, and everything turned out as he had ex- 
pected it would. He sent my letter all over Paris, with his 
own commentaries upon it, which, however, were not so 
successful as he expected them to be. It was not judged 
that the permission he had extorted to make my letter 
public exempted him from the blame of having so lightly 
taken me at my word to do me an imjury. People con- 
tinually asked what personal complaints he had against 
me to authorise so violent a hatred. Finally, it was 
thought that even if my behaviour had been such as to 
authorise him to break with me, friendship, although 
extinguished, had rights which he ought to have re- 
spected. But unfortunately Paris is frivolous; remarks 
of the moment are soon forgotten, the absent and un- 
fortunate are neglected, the man who prospers secures 
favour by his presence, the intriguimg and malicious sup- 
port each other, renew their vile efforts, and the effects 
- of these, incessantly succeeding each other, efface every- 
thing by which they were preceded. 

Thus, after having so long deceived me, this man threw 
aside his mask, convinced that, in the state to which 
he had brought things, he no longer stood in need of it. 


[1790] 


THE CONFESSIONSHOE 


Relieved from the fear of bemg unjust towards the 
wretch, I left him to his own reflections, and thought no 
more of him. A week afterwards [ received an answer 
from Madame d’Épinay, dated from Geneva (B, No. 10). 
Ï understood by the tone which she assumed, for the first 
time in her life, that both, depending upon the success of 
their measures, acted in concert, and, considerimg me as 
a man inevitably lost, intended to give themselves the 
pleasure of completing my destruction. 

In fact, my situation was deplorable. I perceived all 
my friends withdrawimg themselves from me without my 
knowimg how or why. Diderot, who boasted of the con- 
tinuance of his attachment, and who for three months 
past had promised me a visit, did not come. The winter 
began to make its appearance, and brought with it my 
habitual disorders. My constitution, although vigorous, 
had been unequal to the combat of so many opposite 
passions. Î was so exhausted that I had neither strength 
nor courage sufficient to resist the most trifling indis- 
position. Had my engagements and the continued re- 
monstrances of Diderot and Madame d’Houdetot then 
permitted me to quit the Hermitage, I knew not where to 
go, nor in what manner to drag myself along. [I remained 
stupid and immovable, powerless for action or thought. 
The mere idea of a step to take, of a letter to write, or a 
word to say, made me tremble; I could not, however, 
refram from replymg to the letter of Madame d’'Epinay 
without acknowledgmg myself to be worthy of the treat- 
ment with which she and her friend overwhelmed me. I 
determined upon notifying to her my sentiments and 
resolutions, not doubting for a moment that from hu- 
manity, generosity, propriety, and the good sentiments 
that I imagmed I had observed in her, notwithstanding 
her bad ones, she would immediately subscribe to them. 
My letter was as follows: — 


[ 180 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


‘THE HERMITAGE, 23rd Nor., 1757. 


‘Were it possible to die of grief, I should not now be alive. 
But I have at length decided what to do. Friendship, madame, 
is extinguished between us, but that which no longer exists still 
has its rights, and I respect them. I have not forgotten your 
goodness to me; and you may, on my part, expect as much 
gratitude as it is possible to have towards a person I must no 
longer love. All further explanation would be useless. I have 
in my favour my own conscience, and [I ask you to consult 
your own. 

‘I wished to quit the Hermitage, and I ought to have done 
it; but I am told that [ must stay there until spring; and 
since my friends desire it [ will remain there until that season, 
if you will consent.” 


After writing and despatching this letter, all I thought 
of was remainmg quiet at the Hermitage, and taking 
care of my health; of endeavourimg to recover my 
strength, and taking measures to remove im the spring 
without noise or making the rupture public. But these 
were not the intentions either of Grimm or of Madame 
d'Épinay, as will presently appear. 

À few days afterwards I had the pleasure of receiving 
from Diderot the visit he had so frequently promised, 
and in which he had as constantly failed. He could not 
have come more opportunely: he was my oldest friend, 
almost the only one who remained to me; the pleasure 
I felt in seeing him, as things were circumstanced, may 
easily be imagimed. My heart was full, and I disclosed 
it to him. I explained to him several facts, which either 
had not come to his knowledge, or had been disguised or 
falsified. I informed him, as far as I could do it with 
propriety, of all that had passed. I did not affect to con- 
_ceal from him that with which he was but too well ac- 
quainted, that a passion equally unreasonable and unfor- 
tunate had been the cause of my destruction; but I 
never acknowledged that Madame d’Houdetot had been 


[ 181 ] 


THE TCONFESSTONSAONR 


made acquainted with it, or that I had declared it to her. 
Î mentioned to him the unworthy manœuvres of Madame 
d'Épinay to intercept the innocent letters her sister-in- 
law wrote me. Î was determined that he should hear the 
particulars from the mouth of the persons whom she had 
attempted to seduce. Thérèse related them with great 
precision; but what was my astonishment when the 
mother came to speak, and I heard her declare and main- 
tain that nothing of this had come to her knowledge! 
These were her words, from which she would never 
depart. Not four days before, she herself had recited to 
me all the particulars, and im presence of my friend she 
contradicted me to my face. This, to me, was decisive, 
and I then clearly saw my imprudence m having for so 
long a time kept such a woman near me. Î made no use 
of invective; Î scarcely deigned to speak to her a few 
words of contempt. [ felt what I owed to the daughter, 
whose steadfast uprightness was a perfect contrast to 
the base manœuvres of the mother. But from that 
moment my resolution was taken relative to the old 
woman, and Î waited for nothmg but to put it into 
execution. 

This presented itself sooner than [I expected. On the 
10th of December I received from Madame d’Épinay the 
followmg answer to my preceding letter (B, No. 11): — 


GENEVA, 1st December, 1757. 


‘After having for several years given you every possible 
sign of friendship and kindly interest, all I can now do is to 
pity you. You are very unhappy. I wish your conscience 
may be as calm as mine; this may be necessary to the repose 
of your whole life. 

‘Since you determined to quit the Hermitage, and were 
persuaded that you ought to do it, | am astonished your 
friends have prevailed upon you to stay there. For my part, 
Ï never consult mine upon my duty, and I have nothing further 
to say to you upon your own.” 


[1824 


1EAN=JACQUES" ROUSSEAU 


Such an unforeseen dismission, and so plainly pro- 
nounced, left me not a moment to hesitate. It was neces- 
sary to quit immediately, let the weather and my health 
be in what state they might, although Î were to sleep in 
the woods, and upon the snow, with which the ground 
was then covered, and in defrance of everything Madame 
d’'Houdetot might say; for [| was willmg to do every- 
thing to please her except render myself infamous. 

I never had been so embarrassed in my whole life as I 
then was; but my resolution was taken. I swore, let 
what would happen, not to sleep at the Hermitage on the 
night of that day week. I began to prepare for sending 
away my effects, resolving to leave them in the open 
field rather than not give up the key by the end of the 
week; for I was determined everything should be done 
before a letter could be written to Geneva, and an answer 
to it received. Î never felt myself so inspired with 
courage; Î had recovered all my strength. Honour and 
indignation, upon which Madame d’ Épinay had not cal- 
culated, contributed to restore me to vigour. Fortune 
aided my audacity. Monsieur Mathas, procureur-fiscal 
of Monsieur le Prince de Condé, heard of my embarrass- 
ment. He sent to offer me a little house he had im his 
garden of Mont-Louis, at Montmorency. Î accepted it 
with eagerness and gratitude. The bargain was soon 
concluded. I immediately sent to purchase a little fur- 
niture, to add to that we already had, to accommodate 
Thérèse and me. My effects I had carted away with a 
deal of trouble, and at a great expense. Notwithstand- 
ing the ice and snow, my removal was completed in a 
couple of days, and on the 15th of December I gave up 
the keys of the Hermitage, after having paid the wages 
of the gardener, though unable to pay my rent. 

With respect to Madame Le Vasseur, I told her that 
we must part. Her daughter attempted to make me 


C 183 ] 


CONFESSIONS OF JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


change my resolution, but I was inflexible. I sent her off 
to Paris in the messenger’s carriage, with all the furni- 
ture and effects she and her daughter had im common. 
I] gave her some money, and engaged to pay her lodging 
with her children, or elsewhere, to provide for her sub- 
sistence as well as it should be possible for me to do it, 
and never to let her want bread as long as I should have 
it myself. 

Finally, the second day after my arrival at Mont-Louis, 
Ï wrote to Madame d’Epinay the following letter: — 


“MoNTMORENCY, 17tb December, 1757. 

‘Nothing, madame, is so natural and necessary as to leave 
your house the moment you no longer approve of my remaming 
there. Upon your refusing your consent to my passing the 
rest of the winter at the Hermitage, I quitted it on the 15th of 
December. My destimy was to enter it im spite of myself and 
to leave it in the same fashion. I thank you for the residence 
you prevailed upon me to make there, and I would thank you 
still more had I paid for it less dearly. You are right im believ- 
ing me unhappy; nobody upon earth knows better than your- 
self to what a degree I must be so. If being decerved m the 
choice of our friends be a misfortune, it is another not less 
cruel to recover from so pleasing an error.” 


Such 1s the faithful narration of my residence at the 
Hermitage, and of the reasons which obliged me to leave 
it. Ï could not cut short the recital; it was necessary to 
continue it with the greatest exactness, this epoch of my 
life having had upon the rest of it an influence which 
will extend to my latest hour. 


C 184] 


BOOK X 


[1758] 
is extraordinary degree of strength that a tran- 


sient effervescence had given me to quit the Her- 

mitage left me the moment [ was out of it. I was 
scarcely established in my new habitation before I fre- 
quently suffered from retentions, which were accompanied 
by a new complaimt — that of a rupture, from which I 
had for some time, without knowing what it was, felt 
great inconvenience. Î soon was reduced to the most 
cruel state. The physician Thierry, my old friend, came 
to see me, and made me acquainted with my situation. 
The sight of the surgical mstruments and all the appa- 
ratus of the mfrrmities of years made me severely feel 
that when the body is no longer young the heart is not so 
with impunity. The fine season did not restore me, and 
Ï passed the whole year 1758 im a state of [languor which 
made me think I was almost at the end of my career. I 
saw with impatience the closing scene approach. Re- 
covered from the chimeras of friendship, and detached 
from everything which had made life desirable, I saw 
nothing more in it that could render it agreeable; all I 
perceived was wretchedness and misery, which pre- 
_ vented me from enjoying myself. I sighed for the mo- 
ment when I should be free and escape from my enemies. 
But I must follow the order of events. 

It seems that my retreat to Montmorency disconcerted 
Madame d’Epinay; probably she did not expect it. My 
melancholy situation, the severity of the season, the gen- 
eral falling-off of my friends, all made her and Grimm 


C 185 ] 


THE’, .CONFESSIONSMER 


believe that by driving me to the last extremity they 
should oblige me to implore mercy, and abase myself in 
the vilest manner, that [ might be suffered to remain in 
an asylum which honour commanded me to leave. I 
left it so suddenly that they had not time to prevent the 
step from bemg taken, and they were reduced to the 
alternative of double or quits — to endeavour to ruin me 
entirely or to prevail upon me to return. Grimm chose 
the former, but I am of opinion that Madame d’Épinay 
would have preferred the latter; and I gather this from 
her answer to my last letter, in which she seemed to lay 
aside the airs she had given herself in the preceding ones, 
and to give an opening to an accommodation. The long 
delay of this answer, for which she made me wait a whole 
month, sufficiently indicates the difficulty she found in 
giving it a proper turn, and the deliberations by which 
it was preceded. She could not make any further ad- 
vances without exposing herself; but after her former 
letters, and my sudden retreat from her house, it is 
impossible not to be struck with the care she takes im 
this letter not to suffer an offensive expression to escape 
her. I will copy it at length, to enable my reader to 
judge (B, No. 23). 
“GENEVA, January 17tb, 1758. 


‘I did not receive your letter of the 17th of December, 
monsieur, until yesterday. It was sent me in a box, filled with 
different things, which has been all this time upon the road. 
I shall answer only the postscript: as for the letter, I do not 
clearly understand it, and, could we come to a mutual ex- 
planation, Î should like to refer all that has passed to a mis- 
understanding. Î come back to the postscript. You may 
recollect, sir, that we agreed that the wages of the gardener 
of the Hermitage should pass through your hands, the better 
to make him feel that he depended upon you, and to avoid 
the ridiculous and mdecent scenes which happened in the time 
of his predecessor. As a proof of this, the first quarter of his 
wages was given to you; and a few days before my departure 


[ 186 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


we agreed that I should reimburse what you had advanced. 
Ï know that of this you at first made some difhculty; but 
I had desired you to make these advances; it was natural I 
should acquit myself towards you, and this we concluded 
upon. Cahouet mforms me that you refused to receive the 
money. There is certaimly some mistake m the matter. I 
have given orders that it may again be offered to you, and I 
see no reason for your wishing to pay my gardener, notwith- 
standing our conventions, and even beyond the term of your 
inhabitmg the Hermitage. I therefore expect, monsieur, that, 
recollectimg everything [I have the honour to state, you will 
not refuse to be rermbursed for the sums you have been pleased 
to advance for me. 


After what had passed, not having any confidence in 
Madame d’'Epinay, Î was unwilling to renew my connec- 
tion with her; Î returned no answer to this letter, and 
there our correspondence ended.! Percerving that I had 
taken my resolution, she took hers, and, entering into 
all the views of Grimm and the Coterie Holbachique, \ 
she united her efforts with theirs to accomplish my ruim.. 
Whilst they manœuvred at Paris, she did the same at 
Geneva. Grimm, who afterwards went to her there, 
completed what she had begun. Tronchin, whom they 
had no difficulty m gamimg over, seconded them power- 
fully, and became the most violent of my persecutors, 
without having against me, any more than Grimm had, 
the least subject of complaint. They all three united to 
sow secretly in Geneva the seeds of that crop which came 
to ripeness there four years afterwards. 

They had more trouble at Paris, where [ was better 
known, and where hearts less disposed to hatred less 
easily received its impressions. The better to direct 
their blow, they began by giving out that it was I who 


1 The author’s memory fails him on this point. In Madame d'Épinay’s 
Memoirs (ii. 256) may be found a letter from Rousseau to that lady, 
which she held to be ‘ more impertinent than all the rest.” 


CL 187 ] 


THE) CONFESSION SANR 


had left them. (See Deleyre’s letter, B, No. 30.) Thence, 
still feigning to be my friends, they dexterously spread 
their malignant accusations in the form of complaints of 
the injustice of their friend. Their auditors, thus thrown 
off their guard, listened more attentively to what was 
said of me, and were inclined to blame my conduct. The 
secret accusations of perfidy and mgratitude were made 
with greater precaution, and by that means with greater 
effect. I knew they imputed to me the most atrocious 
crimes, without being able to learn in what these con- 
sisted. AIT that [I could imfer from public rumour was 
that this was founded upon the four following capital 
offences: (1) my retiring to the country; (2) my pas- 
sion for Madame d’Houdetot; (3) my refusing to accom- 
pany Madame d’'Epmay to Geneva; and (4) my leaving 
the Hermitage. If to these they added other grievances, 
they took their measures so well that it has hitherto 
been impossible for me to learn the subject of them. 
It is therefore at this period that I think I may fix the 
establishment of a system since adopted by those at 
whose disposal I am, and which has made such success- 
ful progress as will ssem miraculous to persons who know 
not with what felicity everything which favours the 
malignity of man gains a firm footing. Î will endeavour 
to explain in a few words what to me appears visible in 
this profound and obscure system. | 
With a name already distimguished and known through- 
out all Europe, [ had still preserved my primitive sim- 
plicity. My mortal aversion to all that is known as 
party, faction, and cabal had kept me free and imde- 
pendent, without any other tie than the attachments of 
my heart. Alone, a foreigner, without family or fortune, 
and unconnected with everything except my principles 
and duties, I followed the paths of uprightness, never 
flattering or favouring any person at the expense of 


[ 188 | 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


justice and truth. Besides, having lived for two years 
past in solitude, without observing the course of events, 
unconnected with the affairs of the world, and not in- 
formed of what passed, nor desirous of being acquainted 
with it, I lived four leagues from Paris, as much separated 
from that capital by my indifference as [I should have 
been in the island of Tinian by the sea. 

Grimm, Diderot, and D’Holbach were, on the con- 
trary, in the centre of the vortex, lived in the very midst 
of the great world, and divided amongst them almost all 
its spheres. Noblemen, wits, men of letters, men of the 
long robe, and women, all listened to them when they 
chose to act in concert. The advantage that three men 
in this situation united must have over a fourth in mine 
cannot but already appear. It is true, Diderot and 
D'’Holbach were incapable — at least [ think so — of 
forming black conspiracies; one of them was not base 
enough ! nor the other sufficiently able; but it was for 
this reason that the party was more united. Grimm 
alone formed his plan in'his own mind, and discovered no 
more of it than was necessary to induce his associates to 
concur in the execution. The ascendancy he had gained 
over them made this easy, and the effect of the whole 
answered to the superiority of his talents. 

It was with these — which were of a superior kind — 
that, perceiving the advantage he might acquire from 
our respective situations, he conceived the project of 
completely overturning my reputation, and, without 
compromising himself, of grvmg me one of a nature quite 
opposite, by raising up about me an edifice of obscurity 
through which it was impossible for me to discern his 
manœuvres and unmask them. 


1 ] confess that, since the writing of this book, all that I can discern 
through the mysteries that environ me leads me to fear that I did not 


know Diderot. — KR. 
C 189 ] 


THE :CONFESSIONSAOE 


This enterprise was difficult, because it was necessary 
to palliate the miquity in the eyes of those of whose assist- 
ance he stood in need. He had honest men to deceive, 
to alienate from me the good opinion of everybody, and 
to leave me without a friend of any kind. What say [? 
He had to cut off all communication with me, that no 
word of truth might reach my ears. Had a simgle man 
of generosity come and said to me: “You assume the 
appearance of virtue, yet this is the manner in which 
you are treated, and these the circumstances by which 
you are judged: what have you to say?’ truth would 
have triumphed and Grimm have been undone. Of this 
he was fully convinced; but he had examined his own 
heart, and estimated men according to their merit. I am 
sorry, for the honour of humanity, that he judged with 
so much truth. 

In these dark and crooked paths his steps, to be the 
more sure, Were necessarily slow. He has for twelve 
years pursued his plan, and the most difhcult part of it 
is still to come; this is to deceive the public entirely. 
There are among them eyes that have followed him more 
closely than he imagines. He is afraid of this public, 
and dares not lay his conspiracy open.! But he has 
found the easy means of accompanying it with power, 
and this power has the disposal of me. Thus supported, 
he advances with less danger. The satellites of power 
piquing themselves but little on uprightness, and still 
less on candour, he has no longer to fear the indiscretion 
of any honest man. His safety is in my being enveloped 
im an impenetrable obscurity, and in concealing from me 
his conspiracy, well knowing that, with whatever art he 
may have formed 1t, it could never sustain my gaze. His 


1 Since this was written he has taken the dangerous step with the fullest 
and most inconceivable success. I am of opinion that it was Tronchin 
who inspired him with courage and supplied him with means. — R. 


CL 190 ] 


TEANSJACQOUESTROUSSEAU 


great address consists in appearing to favour whilst he 
defames me, and in giving to his perfidy an air of gener- 
osity. 

I felt the first effects of this system by the secret accu- 
sations of the Coterie Holbachique, without its being 
possible for me to know, or even to conjecture, im what 
these accusations consisted. Deleyre informed me im 
his letters that heinous thmgs were attributed to me. 
Diderot, more mysteriously, told me the same thing; 
and when I came to an explanation with both, the whole 
was reduced to the heads of accusations of which I have 
already spoken. I perceived a gradual increase of cool- 
ness in the letters from Madame d’Houdetot. This I 
could not attribute to Saint-Lambert, who continued to 
write to me with the same friendship, and even came to 
see me after his return. It was impossible to think my- 
. self the cause of it, as we had separated well satisfred 
with each other, and nothing since that time had hap- 
pened on my part, except my departure from the Her- 
mitage, of which she felt the necessity. Therefore, not 
knowing whence this coolness — which she refused to 
acknowledge, although my heart was not to be decerved 
— could proceed, I was uneasy upon every account. I 
knew she greatly favoured her sister-in-law and Grimm, 
im consequence of their connections with Saint-Lambert, 
and Î was afraid of their machinations. This agitation 
reopened my wounds, and rendered my correspondence 
so disagreeable as quite to disgust her with it. [I saw, as 
at a distance, a thousand cruel circumstances, without 
discovering anything distinctly. I was in a situation the 
most insupportable to a man whose imagination is easily 
heated. Had I been quite retired from the world, and 
known nothing of the matter, I should have become more 
calm; but my heart still clung to attachments by means 
of which my enemies had a thousand advantages over 


Lio: ] 


THENUCONFESSTIONSENS 


me; and the feeble rays which penetrated my asylum 
conveyed to me nothing more than a knowledge of the 
blackness of the mysteries which were concealed from 
my eyes. 

I should have sunk, I have no doubt of it, under these 
torments, too cruel and insupportable to my open dis- 
position, which, by the impossibility of concealing my 
sentiments, makes me fear everythimg from those con- 
cealed from me, 1f, fortunately, objects sufficiently inter- 
esting to my heart to divert it from others with which, im 
spite of myself, my mind was filled, had not presented 
themselves. In the last visit that Diderot paid me at the 
Hermitage he had spoken of the article “Geneva, which 
D’Alembert had inserted in the Encyclopédie. He had 
informed me that this article, concerted with the better 
class of citizens, had for its object the setting up of a 
theatre at Geneva, that measures had been taken ac- 
cordingly, and that the establishment would soon take 
place. As Diderot seemed to think all this very proper, 
and did not doubt of the success of the measure, and as 
[ had, besides, to debate with him upon too many other 
subjects to touch upon that article, I made him no answer; 
but, scandalised at these seductive preparatives to im- 
morality in my country, Î waited with impatience for 
the volume of the Encyclopédie in which the article was 
inserted, to see whether it would not be possible to give 
an answer which might ward off the blow. I received the 
volume soon after my establishment at Mont-Louis and 
found the article to be written with much art and ad- 
dress, and worthy of the pen whence it proceeded. This, 
however, did not abate my desire to answer it; and, not- 
withstanding the dejection of spirits under which I then 
Jaboured, my griefs and pains, the severity of the season, 
and the mconvenience of my new abode, in which I had 
not yet had time to settle commodiously, Î set to work 
with a zeal which surmounted every obstacle. 


L 192] 


JEAN=-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


In a severe winter in February, and im the situation I 
have described, I went every day, morning and evening, 
to pass a couple of hours im an open donjon which was at 
the bottom of the garden im which my habitation stood. 
This donjon, which terminated a terraced walk, looked 
upon the valley and the pond of Montmorency, and pre- 
sented to me, as the closing point of a prospect, the plain 
but mteresting Castle of Saint-Gratien, the retreat of 
the virtuous Catinat. It was im this place, then exposed 
to freezimg cold, that, without being sheltered from the 
wind and snow, and having no other fire than that with- 
in my heart, [| composed, in the space of three weeks, my 
letter to D’Alembert on theatres. This — for my Julie 
was not then half written — was the first of my writings 
that charmed me im composition. Until then virtuous 
indignation had been a substitute for Apollo, tenderness 
and a gentleness of mind now became so. The mjus- 
tice I had been witness to had irritated me, that of which 
[ became the object rendered me melancholy; and this 
melancholy without bitterness was but that of a heart 
too tender and affectionate, and which, decerved by those 
whom it had thought akin, was obliged to remain con- 
centred. Full of that which had befallen me, and still 
affected by so many violent emotions, my heart added 
the sentiment of its sufferings to the ideas with which a 
meditation on my subject had inspired me; what I wrote 
bore evident marks of this mixture. Unconsciously, I 
described my actual situation, gave portraits of Grimm, 
Madame d’Epmay, Madame d’Houdetot, Saint-Lambert, 
myself. What delicious tears did I shed as I wrote! 
Alas! in these descriptions there are proofs but too evi- 
dent that love, the fatal love of which I made such efforts 
to cure myself, still remaimed in my heart. With all this 
there was a certain tenderness relative to myself, for I 
thought Î was dying, and imagined I was bidding the 


C 193 ] 


THE CONFESSION SAME 


public my last adieu. Far from fearing death, I joyfully 
saw it approach; but I felt some regret at leaving my 
fellow-creatures without their having perceived my real 
merit, and being convinced how much I should have 
deserved their esteem had they known me better. These 
are the secret causes of the simgular tone that pervades 
this work, so widely opposed to that by which it was 
preceded.! 

Ï corrected and copied the letter, and was preparing to 
print it, when, after a long silence, Î received one from 
Madame d’Houdetot which brought upon me a new 
afiction more painful than any Î had yet suflered. She 
informed me in this letter (B, No. 34) that my passion 
for her was known to all Paris; that [ had spoken of it 
to persons who had made it public; that this rumour, 
having reached the ears of her lover, had nearly cost him 
his life; that at length he did her justice, and peace was 
restored between them; but on his account, as well as 
on hers and for the sake of her reputation, she thought 
it her duty to break off all correspondence with me, at 
the same time assurimg me that she and her friend would 
never cease to take an interest im my welfare, that they 
would defend me before the public, and that she herself 
would from time to time send to mquire after my health. 

And thou too, Diderot, exclaimed I. Unworthy friend! 
I could not, however, yet resolve to condemn him. My 
weakness was known to others who might have spoken 
of it. [I wished to doubt — but this was soon out of my 
power. Saint-Lambert shortly after performed an action 
worthy of himself. Knowing my manner of thinkimg, he 
judged of the state m which I must be: betrayed by one 
set of my friends and forsaken by the other. He came to 
see me. The first time he had not many moments to 
spare. He came again. Unfortunately, not expecting 


1 Discours sur l’Inégalité des Conditions. 


C 194 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


him, Ï was not at home. Thérèse, who happened to be 
there, had with him a conversation of upwards of two 
hours, im which they imformed each other of facts of 
great importance to him and me. The surprise with 
which I learned that nobody doubted of my having lived 
with Madame d’Epinay, as Grimm then did, cannot be 
equalled, except by that of Saint-Lambert when he was 
convinced that the rumour was false. He, to the great 
dissatisfaction of the lady, was in the same situation with 
myself; and the facts brought to light by this conversa- 
tion removed from me all regret on account of my having 
broken with her for ever. Relative to Madame d’Houde- 
tot, he mentioned several circeumstances with which 
neither Thérèse nor Madame d’Houdetot herself was 
acquainted, which were known to me only, and which I 
had never mentioned except to Diderot, under the seal 
of friendship; and it was Saint-Lambert himself to whom 
he had chosen to communicate them. This last step was 
sufficient to determine me. Î resolved to break with 
Diderot for ever, and this without further deliberation, 
except on the manner of doing it; for I had perceived 
that secret ruptures turned to my prejudice, because 
they left the mask of friendship in possession of my most 
cruel enemies. 

The rules of good breeding established m the world on 
this head seem to have been dictated by a spirit of 
treachery and falsehood. To appear the friend of a man, 
when in reality we are no longer so, is to reserve to our- 
selves the means of doing him an injury by betraying 
honest men into an error. Î recollected that when the 
gifted Montesquieu broke with Père de Tournemime he 
immediately declared it openly, and saïd to everybody: 
‘Listen neither to Père de Tournemine nor myself, when 
we speak of each other, for we are no longer friends.” 
This open and generous proceeding was universally ap- 


C195] 


THE CONFESSIONSLOE 


plauded. I resolved to follow the example with Diderot; 
but what method was I to take to publish the rupture 
authentically from my retreat, and yet without scandal? 
I concluded on inserting in the form of a note, in my 
work, a passage from the book of Ecclesiasticus, which 
declared the rupture, and even the subject of it, in terms 
sufficiently clear to such as were acquainted with the 
matter, but could signify nothing to the rest of the world. 
I determined also not to speak in my work of the friend 
whom I had renounced except with the honour always 
due to friendship even when extinct. The whole may be 
seen in the work itself. 

There is nothing im this world but good fortune and 
ill fortune, and every act of courage seems to be a crime 
in adversity. For that which had been admired in Mon- 
tesquieu Î received only blame and reproach. As soon 
as my work was printed, and I had copies of it, I sent one 
to Saint-Lambert, who, the evening before, had written 
to me in his own name and that of Madame d’'Houdetot 
a note expressive of the most tender friendship (B, No. 
37). The following 1s the letter he wrote to me when he 
returned the copy that I had sent him (B, No. 38): — 


“EAUBONKE, 10tb October, 1758. 

‘Indeed, monsieur, Î cannot accept the present you have 
just made me. At that part of your preface where, relative 
to Diderot, you quote a passage from Ecclesiastes [ he mistakes; 
it is from Ecclesiasticus] the book dropped from my hand. 
In the conversations we had together last summer, you seemed 
to be persuaded that Diderot was not guilty of the pretended 
mdiscretions you had imputed to him. You may, for aught I 
know to the contrary, have cause to complain of him, but 
surely this does not give you a right to insult him publicly. 
You are not unacquamted with the nature of the persecutions 
he suffers, and you join the voice of an old friend to that of 
envy. Î cannot refrain from telling you, monsieur, how much 
this hemous act of yours has shocked me. I am not acquainted 


C 196 ] 


DRAN-JACQUESYROUSSEAU 


with Diderot, but I honour him, and I have a lively sense of 
the pain you give to a man whom, at least not in my hearing, 
you have never reproached with anythmg more than a trifling 
weakness. You and I, monsieur, differ too much in our prin- 
ciples ever to be agreeable to each other. Forget that I exist; 
this you may easily do. I have never done to men either good 
or evil of a nature to be long remembered. I promise, monsieur, 
to forget your person, and to remember nothing but your 
talents.” 


This letter filled me with mdignation and affliction; 
and in the excess of my pangs, feeling my pride wounded, 
I answered him by the following note: — 


‘MonNTMORENCY, 11tb October 1758. 

‘Monsieur, — While reading your letter, I did you the 
honour to be surprised at it, and had the weakness to suffer 
it to affect me; but I find it unworthy of an answer. 

‘I will no longer continue the copies for Madame d’'Houdetot. 
If it be not agreeable to her to keep what she has, she may 
send it me back and I will return her money. If she keeps it 
she must still send for the rest of her paper and the money; 
and at the same time I beg she will return me the prospectus 
which she has in her possession. Adieu, monsieur.” 


Courage under misfortune 1irritates the hearts of cow- 
ards, but it is pleasing to generous minds. This note 
seemed to make Saint-Lambert reflect with himself and 
to regret his having been so violent; but too haughty in 
his turn to make open advances, he seized, and perhaps 
prepared, the opportunity of softening the effect of the 
blow that he had struck. A fortnight afterwards I re- 
ceived from Monsieur d’Epinay the followmg letter 
(B, No. 10): — 

‘Thursday, 26tb. 


‘Monsieur, — I have received the book you had the goodness 
to send me, and am reading it with much pleasure. I have 
always experienced the same sentiment im reading all the works 
which have come from your pen. Receive my thanks for the 
whole. I should have returned you these in person had my 


C 197 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS" OF 


affairs permitted me to remain in your neïghbourhood; but 
this year I did not stay long at La Chevrette. Monsieur and 
Madame Dupin ask me to dine there next Sunday. I expect 
Monsieur de Saint-Lambert, Monsieur de Francuéil, and 
Madame d’'Houdetot will be of the party; you will do me much 
pleasure by making one also. All the persons who are to dine 
with me desire it, and will as well as myself be delighted to 
pass with you a part of the day. I have the honour to be, with 
the most perfect consideration,’ etc. 


This letter made my heart beat violently; after having 
for a year past been the talk of Paris, the idea of present- 
ing myself as a spectacle before Madame d’Houdetot 
made me tremble, and I had much difhiculty im fnmding 
sufficient courage to support that trial. Yet, as she and 
Saint-Lambert were desirous of it, and D’Épinay spoke 
in the name of all the guests without naming one whom 
I should not be glad to see, I did not think, after all, 
that Î should compromise myself by accepting a dinner 
to which I was in some degree invited by all who would 
be present. [I therefore promised to go; on Sunday the 
weather was bad, Monsieur d’Epinay sent me his car- 
riage, and Î went. 

My arrival caused a sensation; [ never met a better 
reception; an observer would have thought the whole 
company felt how much I stood im need of encourage- 
ment. None but French hearts are susceptible of this 
kmd of delicacy. However, I found more people than I 
had expected to see; amongst others the Comte d’Houde- 
tot, whom I did not know, and his sister Madame de 
Blainville, whose absence would have pleased me as well. 
She had the year before come several times to Eaubonne, 
and her sister-m-law had left her in our solitary walks, 
to wait until she thought proper to suffer her to join us. 
She had harboured a resentment against me, which dur- 
ing this dinner she gratified at her ease; for one may 
guess that the presence of the Comte d’'Houdetot and 


C 198 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


Saint-Lambert did not give me the laugh on my side, 
and that a man embarrassed in the most common con- 
versations was not brilliant in this one. Î never suffered 
so much, appeared so awkward, or received more un- 
expected mortifications. As soon as we had risen from 
table, I withdrew from that horrid woman; I had the 
pleasure of seeimg Saint-Lambert and Madame d’Houde- 
tot approach me, and we conversed together a part of the 
afternoon, upon thmgs very imdifferent, it is true, but 
with the same familiarity as before my mvoluntary error. 
This attention was not lost upon my heart; and, could 
Saint-Lambert have read what passed there, he certainly 
would have been satisfied with it. Î[ can safely assert 
that, although on my arrival the presence of Madame 
d'Houdetot gave me violent palpitations, on returning 
from the house I scarcely thought of her; my mind was 
entirely taken up with Saint-Lambert. 

Notwithstanding the pointed sarcasms of Madame de 
Blainville, this dinner was of great service to me, and I 
congratulated myself upon not having refused the imvi- 
tation. Î[ not only discovered that the intrigues of Grimm 
and the Holbachians had not deprived me of my old ac- 
quaintance,! but — what flattered me still more — that 
the sentiments of Madame d’Houdetot and Samt-Lam- 
bert were less changed than I had imagined; and I at 
length understood that his keeping her at a distance 
from me proceeded more from jealousy than disesteem. 
This was a consolation to me, and calmed my mind. Cer- 
tain of not being an object of contempt im the eyes of 
persons whom I esteemed, I wrought in reliance upon my 
own heart with greater courage and success. [f I did not 
quite extinguish in it a guilty and unhappy passion, Ï at 
least so well regulated the remains of it that they have 


1 Such, in the simplicity of my heart, was still my opinion when Î 
wrote my Confessions. — R. 
C 199 ] 


THE VCONFESSEIONSYOR 


never since that moment led me imto the most trifling 
error. The copying for Madame d’'Houdetot, which she 
prevailed upon me to take up again, and my works, 
which I continued to send her as soon as they appeared, 
produced me from her now and then a few notes and 
messages, indifferent but obliging. She did still more, as 
will hereafter appear; and the reciprocal conduct of all 
three, after our intercourse had ceased, may serve as an 
example of the manner in which persons of honour sepa- 
rate when association is no longer agreeable. 

Another advantage that this dinner procured me was 
its being spoken of in Paris, where it served as a complete 
refutation of the rumour spread by my enemies that I 
had quarrelled with every person who partook of it, and 
especially with Monsieur d’Epinay. When I left the Her- 
mitage [ had written him a very polite letter of thanks, 
to which he answered not less politely, and mutual crvili- 
ties had continued, as well between us as with Monsieur 
de Lalive, his brother-m-law, who even came to see me 
at Montmorency, and sent me some of his engravings. 
Excepting the two sisters-m-law of Madame d’Houdetot, 
I have never been on bad terms with any person of the 
family. 

My letter to D’Alembert had great success. AI my 
works had been very well received, but this was more 
favourable to me. It taught the public to distrust the 
msimuations of the Coterie Holbachique. When I went 
to the Hermitage, this Coterie predicted, with its usual 
self-sufficiency, that [ should not remain there three 
months. When it was found that I had stayed there 
twenty months, and, though obliged to leave it, still fixed 
my residence in the country, the Coterie insisted that 
this was pure obstimacy, and that I was weary to death of 
my retirement, but that, eaten up with pride, [ chose 
rather to become a victim to my stubbornness than to 


[ 200 | 


JHEÉAN-JACQUES\ ROUSSEAU 


acknowledge it and return to Paris. The letter to D’Alem- 
bert breathed a gentleness of mind which every one per- 
ceived not to be affected. Had I been dissatisfied with 
my retreat, my style and manner would have shown 1t. 
This latter tone reigned in all the works I had written at 
Paris; but in the first Î wrote in the country no appear- 
ance of it was to be found. To persons who knew how to 
distinguish, this mark was decisive: they perceived that 
Ï was again in my element. 

Yet this same work, notwithstanding all the mildness 
it breathed, made me, by a mistake of my own and my 
usual 1ll-luck, another enemy amongst men of letters. I 
had become acquainted with Marmontel at the house of 
Monsieur de la Poplinière, and this acquaintance had 
been continued at that of the Baron. Marmontel at that 
time composed Le Mercure de France. As I had too 
much pride to send my works to the authors of periodical 
publications, and wishing to send him this without his 
imagining it was Im consequence of that title or that I 
was desirous he should speak of it in Le Mercure, I wrote 
upon the book that it was not for the author of Le Mer- 
cure, but for Monsieur Marmontel. I thought I was pay- 
ing him a fine compliment; he mistook it for a cruel 
offence, and became my irreconcilable enemy. He wrote 
against this letter with politeness, but with a bitterness 
easily perceptible, and since that time has never lost an 
opportunity of imjuring me in society, and of indirectly 
ill-treatmg me in his works. Such difhculty is there in 
managing the irritable self-love of men of letters, and so 
careful ought every person to be not to leave anything 
even shightly equivocal im the compliments they pay 
them. 


[1750.] Having nothimg more to disturb me, [I took 
advantage of my leisure and independence to continue 


[ 201 ] 


THE: CONFESSIONS 


my Literary pursuits with more coherence. I this winter 
finished Julie, and sent it to Rey, who had it printed in 
the year following. 1 was, however, interrupted in my 
projects by a very disagreeable circumstance. I heard 
new preparations were making at the Opera House to 
revive Le Devin du Village. Enraged at seeing these 
people arrogantly dispose of my property, I agam took 
up the memoir Ï had sent to Monsieur d’Argenson, to 
which no answer had been returned, and, having made 
some trifling alterations in it, Î sent the manuscript by 
Monsieur Sellon, Resident from Geneva, and a letter, 
with which he was pleased to charge himself, to Mon- 
sieur le Comte de Saimt-Florentin, who had succeeded 
Monsieur d’Argenson in the Opéra department. Duclos, 
to whom Î communicated what I had done, mentioned it 
to the petits violons, who offered to restore me, not my 
opera, but my freedom of the theatre, which I was no 
longer im a situation to enjoy. Perceiving that I had not 
the least justice to expect from any quarter, Ï gave 
up the affair; and the directors of the Opéra, without 
answering or even listening to my reasons, have con- 
tinued to dispose as of their own property, and to turn 
to their profit, Le Devin du Village, which incontestably 
belongs to nobody but myself.1 

Since I had shaken off the yoke of my tyrants, I led a 
life sufficiently agreeable and peaceful; deprived of the 
charm of too strong attachments, Î was delivered from 
the weight of their chains. Disgusted with the friends 
who feigned to be my protectors, and wished absolutely 
to dispose of me at will, and, im spite of myself, to sub- 
ject me to their pretended good services, I resolved in 
future to have no other connections than those of simple 
benevolence. These, without the least constraint upon 


1 It now belongs to them by virtue of a recent agreement made with 


me. — KR. 
[ 202 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


liberty, constitute the pleasure of life, and have equality 
for their basis. I had of them as many as were necessary 
to enable me to taste of the charms of society without 
bemg subject to dependence; and as soon as I had made 
an experiment of this manner of life, I felt it was the most 
proper to my age, that I might end my days in peace, far 
removed from the agitations, quarrels, and cavillings in 
which I had just been half submerged. 

During my residence at the Hermitage, and after my 
settlement at Montmorency, I had made in the neigh- 
bourhood some agreeable acquaintances, which did not 
subject me to any mconvenience. The principal of these 
was young Loyseau de Mauléon, who, then beginning to 
plead at the bar, did not yet know what rank he would 
one day hold there. I, for my part, was not in the least 
doubt about the matter. [ soon pointed out to him the 
illustrious career in the midst of which he is now seen, 
and predicted that if he laid down to himself rigid rules 
for the choice of causes, and never became the defender 
of anything but virtue and justice, his genius, elevated 
by this sublime sentiment, would be equal to that of the 
greatest orators. He followed my advice, and now feels 
the effects of it. His defence of Monsieur de Portes 1s 
worthy of Demosthenes. He came every year within a 
quarter of a league of the Hermitage to pass the vaca- 
tion at Saint-Brice, m the fief of Mauléon, belonging to 
his mother, and where the great Bossuet had formerly 
lodged. This is a fief of which a like succession of pro- 
prietors would render nobility difficult to support. 

Ï had also for a neighbour, in the same village of Saint- 
Brice, the bookseller Guérin, a man of wit, learned, of 
an amiable disposition, and one of the first m his profes- 
sion. He brought me acquainted with Jean Néaulme, 
bookseller of Amsterdam, his friend and correspondent, 
who afterwards printed Emile. 


C203 1 


THE: CONFESSIONSUSIE 


I had another acquaintance still nearer than Saint- 
Brice: this was Monsieur Maltor, vicar of Grosley, a 
man better adapted for the functions of a statesman and 
a minister than for those of a village curé, and to whom 
a diocese at least would have been given to govern if 
talents decided the disposal of places. He had been secre- 
tary to the Comte du Luc, and was formerly intimately 
acquainted with Jean-Baptiste Rousseau. Holding in as 
much esteem the memory of that illustrious exile as he 
held in horror the villam Saurinm who ruined him, he 
possessed curious anecdotes of both, which Séguy had 
not inserted in the life, still in manuscript, of the former; 
and he assured me that the Comte du Luc, far from ever 
having had reason to complain of his conduct, had until 
his last moment preserved for him the warmest friend- 
ship. Monsieur Maltor, to whom Monsieur de Vinti- 
mille gave this comfortable retreat after the death of his 
patron, had formerly been employed in many affairs of 
which, although far advanced in years, he still preserved 
a distinct remembrance, and reasoned upon them very 
well. His conversation, equally amusing and instructive, 
had nothing in it resembling that of a village pastor; he 
joined the manners of a man of the world to the knowl- 
edge of one who passes his life im study. He, of all my 
permanent neighbours, was the person whose society was 
the most agreeable to me, and whom I quitted with most 
regret. 

Ï was also acquainted at Montmorency with several 
fathers of the Oratory, and amongst others Père Berthier, 
professor of natural philosophy, to whom, notwithstand- 
img some little tincture of pedantry, I became attached on 
account of a certain air of cordial good-nature which I 
observed in him. I had, however, some difficulty im 
reconciling this great simplicity with the desire and the 
art he had of everywhere thrustimg himself into the com- 


C 204] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


pany of the great, as well as that of the women, devotees, 
and philosophers. He knew how to be all things to all 
men. I was greatly pleased with the man, and spoke of 
my satisfaction to everybody. Apparently what I had 
said of him came to his ear. He one day thanked me for 
having thought him a good-natured man. I observed 
something in his forced smile which, in my eyes, totally 
changed his physiognomy, and which has since frequently 
recurred to my mind. I cannot better compare this smile 
than to that of Panurge purchasing Dindenaut’s sheep. 
Our acquamntance had begun a little time after my arrival 
at the Hermitage, to which place he frequently came to 
see me. ÎÏ was already settled at Montmorency when he 
left to go and reside at Paris. He often saw Madame Le 
Vasseur there. One day, when I least expected anything 
of the kind, he wrote to me in behalf of that woman, 
informmg me that Grimm offered to maintain her, and 
to ask my permission to accept the offer. This I under- 
stood consisted in a pension of three hundred livres, and 
that Madame Le Vasseur was to come and live at Deuil, 
between La Chevrette and Montmorency. ÎI will not 
say what impression the application made on me. It 
would have been less surprising had Grimm had ten 
thousand livres a year, or any relation more easy to 
comprehend with that woman, and had not such a crime 
been made of my taking her to the country, where, as if 
she had become younger, he was now pleased to think of 
placing her. I perceived the good old lady had no other 
reason for asking my permission — which had I refused, 
she might easily have done without — but the fear of 
losing what [ already gave her. Although this charity 
appeared to be very extraordinary, it did not strike me so 
much then as afterwards. But had [ known even every- 
thing I have since discovered, I would still as readily 
have given my consent as I did, and was obliged to do, 


[ 205 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


unless I had exceeded the offer of Monsieur Grimm. Père 
Berthier afterwards cured me a little of my opinion of his 
good-nature, which he had thought so amusing, and with 
which I had so unthmkingly charged him. 

This same Père Berthier was acquainted with two men 
who, for what reason I knew not, sought to become so 
with me; there was but little similarity between their 
tastes and mine. They were children of Melchisedec, of 
whom neither the country nor the family was known, no 
more than, in all probability, their real name. They 
were Jansenists, and passed for priests in disguise, per- 
haps on account of their ridiculous mode of wearing long 
swords, to which they appeared to have been fastened. 
The great mystery observable in all their proceedings 
gave them the appearance of the heads of a party, and 
I never had the least doubt of their being the authors of 
the Gazette Ecclésiastique. The one, tall, smooth-tongued, 
and self-seekmg, was a Monsieur Terrand; the other, 
short, squat, a sneerer, and punctilious, was a Monsieur 
Minard. They called each other cousin. They lodged at 
Paris with D’Alembert, in the house of his nurse, named 
Madame Rousseau, and had taken at Montmorency a 
little apartment to pass the summers there. They did 
everything for themselves, and had neither servant nor 
messenger; each had his turn weekly to purchase pro- 
visions, do the business of the kitchen, and sweep the 
house. In other respects, on the whole, they managed 
tolerably well, and we sometimes ate with each other. 
[ know not for what reason they gave themselves any con- 
cern about me: for my part, my only motive for associat- 
ing with them was their playing at chess, and to make up a 
poor little party I suffered four tedious hours. As they 
thrust themselves into all companies, and wished to inter- 
meddle im everything, Thérèse called them the commères, 
and by this name they were long known at Montmorency. 


[ 206 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


Such, with my host Monsieur Mathas, who was a good 
sort of man, were my principal country acquaintance. 
Ï still had a sufhicient number at Paris, to live there agree- 
ably whenever [I chose it, outside the sphere of men of 
letters, amongst whom Duclos was the only one whom I 
could call friend, for Deleyre was still too young; and 
although, after having been a witness to the manœuvres 
of the philosophical tribe against me, he had withdrawn 
from it — at least I thought so — I could not yet forget 
the facility with which he had made himself the mouth- 
piece of all the people of that description. 

In the first place, I had my old and respectable friend 
Monsieur Roguin. This was a good old-fashioned friend 
for whom I was not indebted to my writings, but to my- 
self, and whom for that reason I have always preserved. 
I had the good Lenieps, my countryman, and his daugh- 
ter, then alive, Madame Lambert. I had a young Gene- 
vese, named Coindet, a good fellow, apparently careful, 
officious, zealous, but really ignorant, presumptuous, 
greedy and grasping, who came to see me soon after I had 
gone to reside at the Hermitage, and, without any other 
introducer than himself, soon made his way mto my good 
graces against my will. He had a taste for drawing, and 
was acquainted with artists. He was of service to me 
relative to the engravings for Julie; he undertook the 
direction of the designs and the plates, and acquitted 
himself well of the commission. 

I had free access to the house of Monsieur Dupin, 
which, less brilliant than in the younger days of Madame 
Dupin, was still, through the merit of the heads of the 
family and the choice of company which assembled 
there, one of the best houses in Paris. As I had not pre- 
ferred anybody to them, and had only separated myself 
from them that I might live mdependently, they had 
always welcomed me in a friendly manner, and Ï was 


C 207] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


always certain of being well received by Madame Dupin. 
I might even have counted her amongst my country 
neighbours after her establishment at Clichy, to which 
place I sometimes went to pass a day or two, and whither 
I should have gone more frequently had Madame Dupin 
and Madame de Chenonceaux been upon better terms. 
But the difficulty of dividing my time in the same house 
between two women who had no sympathy with each 
other made life at Clichy too irksome. Attached to 
Madame de Chenonceaux by a friendship most frank and 
familiar, I had the pleasure of seemg her more at my ease 
at Deuil, where, close to my door, she had taken a small 
house, and even in my own habitation, where she often 
came to see me. 

I had likewise for a friend Madame de Créqui, who, 
having become very devout, no longer received the 
D’Alemberts, the Marmontels — indeed, few men of 
letters, except, I believe, the Abbé Trublet, half a hypo- 
crite at that time, of whom she was sufficiently weary. 
I, whose acquaintance she had sought, lost neither her 
good wishes nor intercourse. She sent me presents of 
young pullets from Mons; and her mtention was to come 
and see me the year following had not a Journey upon 
which Madame de Luxembourg determined prevented 
her. I here owe her a place apart; she will always hold 
a distinguished one in my remembrance. 

In this list I should place a man whom, except Roguin, 
I ought to have mentioned as the first upon it — my old 
friend and brother politician De Carrio, formerly titulary 
secretary to the embassy from Spain to Venice, after- 
wards in Sweden, where he was chargé des affaires, and 
at length really secretary to the embassy at Paris. He 
came and surprised me at Montmorency when I least 
expected him. He was decorated with a Spanish order, 
the name of which I have forgotten, with a fine cross in 


[ 208 | 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


jewels. He had been obliged, in his proofs of nobility, 
to add a letter to his name, and bore that of the Chevalier 
de Carrion. I found him still the same man, possessing 
the same excellent heart, and a disposition becoming 
daily more amiable. We should have renewed our former 
intimacy had not Coindet interposed according to custom, 
taken advantage of the distance [ was at from town to 
insinuate himself into my place, and, in my name, into 
his confidence, and supplant me by the excess of his zeal 
to serve me. 

The remembrance of Carrion makes me recollect one 
of my country neïghbours, of whom [I should be inex- 
cusable not to speak, as [I have to make confession of 
an unpardonable wrong towards him: this was the hon- 
est Monsieur Le Blond, who had done me a service at 
Venice, and, having made an excursion to France with 
his family, had taken a house im the country, at La 
Briche, not far from Montmorency.! As soon as I heard 
he was my neïghbour, I, im the joy of my heart, felt 
that I was his, and made it more a pleasure than a duty 
to pay him a visit. I set off upon this errand the next 
day. I was met by people who were coming to see me, 
and with whom I was obliged to return. Two days 
afterwards I set off again for the same purpose; he had 
dined at Paris with all his family. A third time he was 
at home. I heard the voice of women, and saw at the 
door a coach, which alarmed me. I wished to see him, 
at least for the first time, quite at my ease, that we might 
talk over what had passed during our former connection. 
In fine, I so often postponed my visit from day to day 
that the shame of discharging a like duty so late pre- 
vented me from doing it at all. After having dared to 


1 When I wrote this, possessed with my customary blind confidence, 
Ï was far from suspecting the true motive and effect of this journey to 


Paris. — KR. 
C 209 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


wait so long I no longer dared to present myself. This 
negligence, at which Monsieur Le Blond could not but be 
justly offended, gave, relative to him, the appearance of 
ingratitude to my indolence; and yet I felt my heart so 
little culpable that, had it been in my power to do Mon- 
sieur Le Blond the least service, even unknown to him- 
self, I am certain he would not have found me idle. But 
indolence, negligence, and delay in little duties to be ful- 
filled have been more prejudicial to me than great vices. 
My greatest faults have been omissions; [ have rarely 
done what I ought not to have done, and, unfortunately, 
I have still more rarely done what [ ought to have done. 

Since I am now upon the subject of my Venetian ac- 
quaintance, Î must not forget one of these whom I still 
preserved for a considerable time after my intercourse 
with the rest had ceased. This was Monsieur de Jonville, 
who continued after his return from Genoa to show me 
much friendship. He was fond of seemmg me, and of con- 
versing with me upon the affairs of Italy, and the follies 
of Monsieur de Montaigu, of whom he himself knew 
many anecdotes by means of his acquaintance in the 
Office for Foreign Affairs, with which he was much con- 
nected. TI had also the pleasure of seeing at his house my 
old comrade Dupont, who had purchased a place in the 
province where he lived, and whose affairs sometimes 
brought him to Paris. Monsieur de Jonville became by 
degrees so desirous of seeing me that he m some measure 
laid me under constraint, and, although our places of 
residence were at a great distance from each other, we 
had a friendly quarrel when I let a week pass without 
gomg to dime with him. When he went to Jonville he 
was always desirous of my accompanying him, but hav- 
img once been there to pass a week, which did not seem to 
pass very swiftly, Î had no desire to return. Monsieur 
de Jonville was certainly an honourable man, and even 


[ 210 | 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


amiable in certain respects, but his understanding was 
confined; he was handsome, rather fond of his person, 
and somewhat tiresome. He had one of the most singu- 
lar collections perhaps in the world, to which he gave 
much of his attention, and endeavoured to acquire for it 
that of his friends, to whom it sometimes afforded less 
amusement than it did to himself. This was a complete 
collection of the vaudevilles of the Court and of Paris, for 
upwards of fifty years past, im which many anecdotes 
were to be found that would have been sought for in 
vain elsewhere. These are memoirs for the history of 
France which would scarcely be thought of in any other 
country. 

One day, whilst we were still upon the very best terms, 
he received me so very coldly, and in a manner so dif- 
ferent from that which was customary to him, that, after 
having given him an opportunity to explain, and even 
having begged him to do it, I left his house with a reso- 
lution im which [I have persevered, never to return to it 
again; for Ï am seldom seen where I have been once ill 
received; and in this case there was no Diderot who 
might plead for Monsieur de Jonville. I vamly endeav- 
oured to discover what I had done to offend him; I was 
quite at fault. IÎ was certain of never having spoken of 
him or his im any other than in the most honourable 
manner, for he had acquired my friendship; and besides 
my having nothing but favourable thmgs to say of him, 
my most imviolable maxim has been that of never speak- 
img but in an honourable manner of the houses [I fre- 
quented. 

At length, by continually rumimating, Î formed the 
following conjecture: The last time we had seen each 
other I had supped with him at the apartment of some 
girls of his acquaintance, in company with two or three 
clerks in the Office of Foreign Affairs, very amiable men, 


[211] 


THE :CONFESSIONSRUE 


and who had neither the manner nor the appearance of 
libertines; and on my part Î can assert that the whole 
evening passed in making melancholy reflections on the 
wretched fate of the creatures with whom we were. I 
did not pay anything, as Monsieur de Jonville gave the 
supper, nor did I make the girls the least present, because 
I gave them not the opportunity I had given to the 
padoana of establishing a claim to the trifle Ï might 
have offered. We all came away together, cheerfully and 
upon good terms. Without having made a second visit 
to the girls, Ï went two or three days afterwards to dine 
with Monsieur de Jonville, whom I had not seen during 
that interval, and who gave me the reception of which I 
have spoken. Unable to suppose any other cause for it 
than some misunderstanding relative to the supper, and 
perceiving that he had no imclination to explain, I re- 
solved to visit him no longer, but [I still continued to 
send him my works. He frequently sent me his compli- 
ments; and one evenimg, meeting him im the chauffoir of 
the Comédie Française, he obligingly reproached me with 
not having called to see him, which, however, did not 
induce me to depart from my resolution. Therefore this 
affair had rather the appearance of a coolness than a rup- 
ture. However, not having heard aught of him since 
that time, it would have been too late after an absence of 
so many years to renew my acquamtance with him. It 
is for this reason that Monsieur de Jonville is not named 
in my list, although I had for a considerable time fre- 
quented his house. 

I will not swell my catalogue with the names of many 
other persons with whom I was or had become less inti- 
mate, although [I sometimes saw them m the country, 
either at my own house or that of some neïghbour, such, 
for instance, as the Abbés de Condillac and de Mably, 
Messieurs de Maïran, de Lalive, de Boisgelou, Watelet, 


[Ua roi 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


Ancelet, and others. I will pass lightly over that of Mon- 
sieur de Margency, gentleman-in-ordimary to the King, 
an ancient member of the Coterie Holbachique, which he 
had quitted as well as myself, and an old friend of Ma- 
dame d’Epmay, from whom he had separated, as I had 
done. I likewise consider that of his friend Desmahis, 
the celebrated but short-lived author of the comedy of 
L’Impertinent, of much the same importance. The first 
was my nelghbour in the country, his estate at Mar- 
gency being near to Montmorency. We were old ac- 
quaintances, but the neighbourhood, and a certain con- 
formity of experience, connected us still more. The 
second died soon afterwards. He had merit, and even 
wit, but he was in some degree the original of his comedy, 
and a little of a coxcomb with women, by whom he was 
not much regretted. 

I cannot, however, omit taking notice of a new corre- 
spondence that I entered into at this period, which has 
had too much imfluence over the rest of my life not to 
make it necessary for me to mark its origin. Î refer to 
Monsieur de Lamoïgnon de Malesherbes, Premier Prési- 
dent of the Cour des Aïdes, then censor of books, which 
office he exercised with equal intelligence and mildness, 
to the great satisfaction of men of letters. I had not 
once been to see him at Paris; yet I had never received 
from him any other than the most obligmg condescen- 
sions relative to the censorship, and I knew that he had 
more than once very severely reprimanded persons who 
had written against me. I had fresh evidence of his 
kindness upon the subject of the publication of Julie. 
The despatch of the proofs of so large a work from Am- 
sterdam by post being very costly, he, to whom all letters 
were free, permitted these to be addressed to him, and 
sent them to me under the countersign of Monsieur le 
Chancelier, his father. When the work was printed he 


C213] 


THE CONFESSIONS Or 


did not permit its sale in the kingdom until, contrary to 
my wishes, an edition had been sold for my benefit. As 
the receipt of this profit would, on my part, have been a 
theft committed upon Rey, to whom I had sold the 
manuscript, | not only refused to accept the present 
intended me, without his consent, which he very gen- 
erously gave, but insisted upon dividing with him the 
hundred pistoles to which it amounted, but of which he 
would not receive anything. For these hundred pistoles I 
had the mortification, against which Monsieur de Males- 
herbes had not forewarned me, of seeing my work hor- 
ribly mutilated, and the sale of the good edition stopped 
until the bad one was entirely disposed of. 

I have always considered Monsieur de Malesherbes as 
a man whose uprightness was proof against every tempta- 
tion. Nothing that has happened has ever made me 
doubt for a moment of his probity; but, as weak as he 
is polite, he sometimes injures those whom he wishes to 
serve by the excess of his zeal to preserve them from 
harm. He not only retrenched a hundred pages in the 
edition of Paris, but he made another retrenchment, 
which might be called a piece of bad faith, in the copy of 
the genuine edition that he sent to Madame de Pompa- 
dour. It is somewhere said in that work that the wife of 
a collier is more respectable than the mistress of a prince. 
This phrase, I solemnly affirm, had occurred to me in the 
warmth of composition, without any application. In 
reading over the work [I perceived that it would be ap- 
phied, yet, in consequence of the imprudent maxim I had 
adopted of not suppressing anything on account of the 
applications which might be made, when my conscience 
bore witness to me that [ had not made them at the time 
I wrote, I determined not to expunge the phrase, and con- 
tented myself with substituting the word prince for king, 
which I had first written. This softening did not seem 


C214] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


sufficient to Monsieur de Malesherbes; he retrenched the 
whole expression in a new sheet which he caused to be 
printed on purpose, and inserted with as much exactness 
as possible in Madame de Pompadour’s copy. She was 
not ignorant of this trick. Some good-natured people 
took the trouble to inform her of it. For my part, it was 
not until a long time afterwards, and when I began to 
feel the consequences of it, that the matter came to my 
knowledge. 

Is not this the origin of the concealed but implacable 
hatred of another lady who was in a like situation,! 
without my knowing it or even being acquainted with 
her when I wrote the passage? When the book was pub- 
lished the acquamtance was made, and I was very un- 
easy. Î mentioned this to the Chevalier de Lorenzi, who 
laughed at me, and said the lady was so little offended 
that she had not even taken notice of the matter. I be- 
lieved him, perhaps rather too lightly, and made myself 
easy when there was much reason for my being other- 
wise. 

At the beginning of the winter I received an additional 
mark of the kindness of Monsieur de Malesherbes, of 
which I was very sensible, although I did not think 
proper to take advantage of it. A place was vacant in 
the Journal des Savants. Margency wrote to me, propos- 
ing to me the place, as from himself. But I easily per- 
ceived from the manner of his letter (C, No. 33) that he. 
was dictated to and authorised; he afterwards told me 
(C, No. 47) that he had been desired to make me the 
offer. The duties of this place were but trifling. Al I 
should have had to do would have been to make two 
extracts a month from the books brought to me for that 
purpose, without being under the necessity of goimg once 
to Paris, not even to pay the magistrate a visit of thanks. 

1 The Comtesse de Boufflers, mistress of the Prince de Conti. 


C215] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


In this way I should have entered a society of men of 
letters of the first merit — Messieurs de Mairan, Clarraut, 
de Guignes, and the Abbé Barthélemy; with the two 
first of whom I had already made an acquaintance, and 
that of the two others was very desirable. In fme, for 
this trifling employment, the duties of which I might so 
commodiously have discharged, there was a salary of 
eight hundred francs. I was for a few hours undecided, 
and wholly from a fear of makmg Margency angry, and 
displeasmg Monsieur de Malesherbes. But at length the 
insupportable constraint of not having it in my power to 
work when I thought proper, and of being commanded 
by time, and moreover the certainty of badly perform- 
ing the functions with which I was to charge myself, pre- 
vailed over everything, and determined me to refuse a 
place for which I was unfit. I knew that my whole talent 
consisted in a certain warmth of mind with respect to 
the subjects of which [ had to treat, and that nothing 
but the love of that which was great, true, and beautiful 
could animate my genius. What would the subjects of 
the extracts I should have had to make from books, or 
even the books themselves, have signified to me? My 
imdifference about them would have frozen my pen and 
blunted my faculties. People thought I could make a 
trade of writing, as the other men of letters did; instead 
of which I never could write but from the warmth of 
imagination. This certainly was not necessary for the 
Journal des Savants. I therefore wrote to Margency a 
letter of thanks in the politest terms possible, and so well 
explamed to him my reasons, that it was not possible that 
either he or Monsieur de Malesherbes could imagine that 
there was pride or 1ll-humour in my refusal. Indeed, 
they both approved of it without receiving me less po- 
litely; and the secret concerning this affair was so well 
kept that the public never heard a whisper of it. 


ler6 1 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


The proposition did not come to me in a favourable 
moment. [ had some time before this formed the project 
of quittimg literature, and especially the trade of an 
author. I had been disgusted with men of letters by 
everything that had lately befallen me, and had learned 
from experience that it was impossible to proceed in the 
same track without having some connections with them. 
Ï was not much less dissatisfied with men of the world, 
and in general with the mixed life I had lately led, half 
to myself and half devoted to societies for which I was 
unfit. I felt more than ever, and by constant experience, 
that every unequal association is disadvantageous to 
the weaker side. Living with opulent people, and in a 
situation different from that which I had chosen, with- 
out keeping house as they did, I was obliged to imitate 
them m many things; and little expenses, which were 
nothing to their fortunes, were for me not less rumous 
than mdispensable. Another man in the country house 
of a friend 1s served by his own servant, as well at table 
as in his chamber: he sends him to seek for everything 
he wants; having nothing directly to do with the servants 
of the house, not even seeing them, he gives them what 
he pleases, and when he thinks proper; but I, alone and 
without a servant, was at the mercy of the servants of 
the house, of whom it was necessary to gain the good 
graces, that I might not have much to suffer; and, being 
treated as the equal of their master, I was obliged to 
treat them accordingly, and better than another would 
have done, because, in fact, I stood in greater need of 
their services. This, where there are but few domes- 
tics, may be complied with; but in the houses that I 
frequented there were a great number, all very arrogant, 
very knavish, very sharp — I mean for their own inter- 
ests — and the rascals knew how to put me in need of 
the services of them all successively. The women of 


L217] 


THE CONFESSIONSYOF 


Paris, who have so much wit, have no just idea of this 
imconvenience, and in their zeal to economize my purse 
they rumed me. If I supped in town at any considerable 
distance from my lodgings, instead of permitting me to 
send for a hackney-coach, the mistress of the house 
ordered her horses to be put to and sent me home in her 
carriage: she was very glad to save me the twenty-four 
sous for the fiacre, but never thought of the écu I gave to 
her coachman and footman. If a lady wrote to me from 
Paris to the Hermitage, or to Montmorency, she regretted 
the four sous the postage of the letter would have cost 
me, and sent it by one of her servants, who came sweat- 
ing on foot, and to whom I gave a dinner and an écu, 
which he certainly had well earned. If she proposed to 
me to pass with her a week or a fortnight at her country 
house, she still said to herself, “It will be a saving to the 
poor man; during that time his eating will cost him 
nothing.’ She never recollected that I was the whole 
time idle; that the expenses of my family, my rent, linen, 
and clothes were still gomg on; that I paid my barber 
double, and that it cost me more being in her house than 
im my own. Although [I confined my little largesses to 
the houses in which [ customarily lived, these were still 
rumous to me. Î am certain that I have paid upwards of 
twenty-five écus in the house of Madame d’Houdetot, 
at Faubonne, where Î[ never slept more than four or five 
times, and upwards of a hundred pistoles as well at 
Épinay as at La Chevrette, during the five or six years 
that Î was most assiduous there. These expenses are 
mevitable to a man like me, who knows not how to pro- 
vide anythmg for himself, or devise expedients of any 
kind, and cannot support the sight of a lackey who 
grumbles and serves with a sour look. With Madame 
Dupin even, where Î was one of the family, and im whose 
house I rendered many services to the servants, Î never 


C218] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


received theirs save in return for money. In course of 
time it was necessary to renounce these little liberalities, 
which my situation no longer permitted me to bestow, 
and I then felt still more severely the imconvenience of 
associating with people in a situation different from my 
own. 

Had this manner of life been to my taste, I should 
have been consoled for a heavy expense which I dedi- 
cated to my pleasures; but to rum myself at the same 
time that [ fatigued my mind was insupportable; and I 
had so felt the weight of this, that, profiting by the mter- 
val of liberty I then had, Î was determined to perpetuate 
it, and entirely to renounce great companies, the compo- 
sition of books, and all literary commerce, and for the 
remainder of my days to confine myself to the narrow 
and peaceful sphere in which I felt that [ was born to 
move. 

The produce of “La Lettre à D’Alembert, and of La 
Nouvelle Héloïse, had a little improved the state of 
my finances, which had been considerably exhausted at 
the Hermitage. I had now about a thousand écus in my 
purse. Emile, to which, after I had finished the Héloïse, 
I had given great application, was im forwardness, and 
the produce of this could not be less than the sum of 
which I was already in possession. [I mtended to place 
this money in such a manner as to produce me a little 
regular income, which, with my copying, might be suffi- 
cient to my wants without writing any more. [ had two 
other works upon the stocks. The first of these was my 
Institutions Politiques. I examined the state of this work, 
and found that it still required several years’ labour. I 
had not courage enough to continue it, and to wait until 
it was finished, before Ï carried my mtention into execu- 
tion. Therefore, laying the book aside, Î determined 
to take from it all Î could, and to burn the rest; and, 


C219] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


continuing this with zeal, without interrupting Emule, 
I finished in less than two years the Contrat Social. 

The Dictionnaire de Musique now remained. This was 
mechanical work, and might be taken up at any time; the 
object of it was entirely pecuniary. [ reserved to myself 
the liberty of laying it aside or of finishing it at my ease, 
according as my other resources should render this neces- 
sary or superfluous. With respect to the Morale Sensi- 
ve, of which [ had executed nothing more than a sketch, 
I entirely gave it up. 

As my last project, if I found I could do altogether with- 
out copyimg, was that of removing from Paris, where the 
afluence of visitors rendered my housekeeping expensive, 
and deprived me of the time requisite to provide for it, 
to prevent in my retirement the state of lassitude imto 
which an author is said to fall when he has laid down his 
pen, Î reserved to myself an occupation which might fill 
up the void m my solitude without tempting me to fur- 
nish more matter for the press in my lifetime. I know 
not for what reason Rey had long urged me to write the 
memoirs of my life. Although these were not up to 
that time interestimg as to the facts, I felt they might 
become so by the candour with which [ was capable 
of giving them, and [ determined to make of these 
the only work of the kind, by an unexampled veracity, 
that, for once at least, the world might see a man such 
as he inwardly was. I had always laughed at the false 
imgenuousness of Montaigne, who, fergning to confess 
his faults, takes great care not to give himself any, 
except such as are pleasing; whilst I, who have ever 
thought, and still think myself, considering everything, 
the best of men, felt that there is no human being, 
however pure he may be, who does not internally con- 
ceal some odious vice. I knew that I was depicted to 
the public as so unlike my real self, and sometimes in 


[ 220 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


such a distorted guise, that, notwithstanding my faults, 
all of which Ï was determined to relate, I could not but 
be a gainer by showing myself in my proper colours. 
This, besides, not being done without setting forth others 
also im theïrs, and the work for the same reason not 
being of a nature to appear during my lifetime, and that 
of several other persons, I was the more emboldened to 
make my Confessions, at which I should never have to 
blush before any person. I therefore resolved to dedi- 
cate my leisure to the execution of this undertaking, and 
immediately began to collect such letters and papers as 
might guide or assist my memory, greatly regretting the 
loss of all that I had burned, mislaïd, and destroyed. 
The project of absolute retirement, one of the most 
reasonable I had ever formed, was strongly impressed 
upon my mind; and for the execution of it I was already 
taking measures, when Heaven, which prepared me a 
different destiny, plunged me mto another vortex. 
Montmorency, the ancient and fine patrimony of the 
illustrious family of that name, was taken from it by con- 
fiscation. It passed, by the sister of Duke Henry, to the 
House of Condé, which has changed the name of Mont- 
morency to that of Enghien, and the duchy has no other 
château than an old tower, where the archives are kept, 
and to which the vassals come to do homage. But at 
Montmorency, or Enghien, there is a private house, 
built by Croisat — called Le Pauvre — which, having 
the magnificence of the most superb château, deserves 
and bears that name. The majestic appearance of this 
noble edifice; the terrace upon which it is reared; the 
view from it, not equalled perhaps in any country; the 
spacious saloon, painted by the hand of à master; the 
garden, planted by the celebrated Le Nôtre — all com- 
bine to form a whole strikingly majestic, im which there 
is still a simplicity that enforces admiration. Monsieur 


[2210 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


le Maréchal Duc de Luxembourg, who then inhabited 
this house, came twice every year imto the neighbour- 
hood where formerly his ancestors were the masters, to 
pass altogether five or six weeks as a private mhabitant, 
but with a splendour which did not degenerate from the 
ancient lustre of his family. On the first journey that he 
made to it after my residing at Montmorency, Monsieur 
and Madame la Maréchale sent to me a valet de chambre 
with their compliments, imviting me to sup with them as 
often as it should be agreeable to me; and at each time 
of their coming they never failed to reiterate the same 
compliments and invitation. This called to my recollec- 
tion Madame de Beuzenval sending me to dine in the 
servants” hall. Times were changed; but I was still the 
same man. Î did not choose to be sent to dine in the 
servants” hall, and was but little desirous of appearing at 
the table of the great. [I should have been much better 
pleased had they left me as [ was, without caressing and 
without humiliating me. I answered politely and respect- 
fully to Monsieur and Madame de Luxembourg, but I 
did not accept their offers; and so much did my indis- 
position and timidity, with my embarrassment Im speak- 
ing, make me tremble at the mere idea of appearing in an 
assembly of people of the Court, that I did not even go 
to the château to pay a visit of thanks, although I suff- 
ciently comprehended that this was all they desired, and 
that their eager politeness was rather a matter of curi- 
osity than benevolence. 

However, advances were still made, and even became 
more pressing. Madame la Comtesse de Boufflers, who 
was very Intimate with Madame la Maréchale, sent to 
inquire after my health, and to propose a visit on her 
part. Î returned her a proper answer, but did not shift 
my ground. On the occasion of his Easter journey in the 
year following, 1759, the Chevalier de Lorenzi, who be- 


[ 222 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


longed to the court of Monsieur le Prince de Conti, and 
was intimate with Madame de Luxembourg, came several 
times to see me, and we became acquainted; he pressed 
me to go to the château, but I refused to comply. At 
length one afternoon, when I least expected anything of 
the kmd, I saw coming up to the house Monsieur le Maré- 
chal de Luxembourg, followed by five or six persons. 
There were now no longer any means of defence; and I 
could not, without being arrogant and unmannerly, do 
otherwise than return this visit, and make my court to 
Madame la Maréchale, from whom he had been the bearer 
of the most obliging compliments to me. Thus, under 
unfortunate auspices, began those connections from 
which I could no longer preserve myself, although a too 
well-founded foresight made me afraïd of them until they 
were formed. 

Ï was excessively afraid of Madame de Luxembourg. 
I knew that she had an engaging manner. I had seen 
her several times at the theatre, and at the house of 
Madame Dupin, ten or twelve years before, when she 
was Duchesse de Boufflers, and in the bloom of youthful 
beauty; but she was said to have a spice of malice, and 
this in a woman of her rank made me tremble. I had 
scarcely seen her before Î was subjugated. I thought her 
charming, with that charm proof against time, and which 
had the fullest power upon my heart. I expected to find 
her conversation satirical and full of pleasantries and 
points. Ît was not so: it was much better. The conver- 
sation of Madame de Luxembourg is not remarkably full 
of wit; it has no sallies, nor even finesse; it is exquisitely 
delicate, never strikmg, but always pleasing. Her 
flattery is the more intoxicating as it is natural; it seems 
to escape her involuntarily, and her heart to overflow 
because it is too full. I thought Î perceived on my 
first visit that, notwithstanding my awkward manner and 


C223] 


THE=CONFESSIONS OF 


embarrassed expression, [ was not displeasing to her. 
AIT the women of the Court know how to persuade us of 
this when they please, whether it be true or not; but they 
do not all, like Madame de Luxembourg, possess the art 
of rendering that persuasion so agreeable that we are no 
longer disposed ever to have a doubt remaining. From 
the first day my confidence in her would have been as full 
as it soon afterwards became, had not the Duchesse de 
Montmorency, her daughter-in-law, young, giddy, some- 
what malicious, and, I think, inclined to raise quarrels, 
taken it into her head to attack me, and in the midst of 
the eulogiums of her mamma, and feigned allurements on 
her own account, made me suspect that I was only con- 
sidered as a subject of ridicule. 

Ï should perhaps have found it difficult to relieve my- 
self from this fear with these two ladies had not the 
extreme goodness of Monsieur le Maréchal confirmed me 
in the belief that their regard was real. Nothing is more 
surprising, considering my timidity, than the prompti- 
tude with which I took him at his word on the footing of 
equality to which he would absolutely reduce himself 
with me, except it be that with which he took me at mine 
with respect to the absolute mdependence in which I 
desired to live. Both persuaded that I had reason to be 
contented with my situation, and that ÎÏ was unwillmg 
to change it, neither he nor Madame de Luxembourg 
seemed to think a moment of my purse or fortune: 
although I can have no doubt of the tender concern they 
had for me, they never proposed to me a place nor offered 
me their interest, except it were once, when Madame de 
Luxembourg seemed to wish me to become a member of 
the Académie Française. T alleged my religion; this she 
told me was no obstacle, or if it were one she engaged to 
remove it. [ answered that, however great the honour 
of becoming a member of so illustrious a body might be, 


C224 ]’ 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


having refused Monsieur de Tressan, and, in some meas- 
ure, the King of Poland, to become a member of the 
Academy at Nancy, I could not with propriety enter into 
any other. Madame de Luxembourg did not insist, and 
nothing more was saïd upon the subject. This simplicity 
of intercourse with persons of such rank, and who had 
the power of doing anything m my favour — Monsieur 
de Luxembourg being, and highly deserving to be, the 
particular friend of the King — affords a singular con- 
trast with the continual cares, no less importunate than 
officious, of the friends and protectors from whom I had 
just separated, and who endeavoured less to serve me 
than to render me contemptible. 

When Monsieur le Maréchal came to see me at Mont- 
Louis, I was uneasy at receiving him and his retinue in 
my only chamber; not because I was obliged to make 
him sit down im the midst of my dirty plates and broken 
pots, but on account of the floor, which was rotten and 
fallmg to rum, and I was afraid that the weight of his 
attendants would entirely sink it. Less concerned on 
account of my own danger than for that to which the 
affability of this worthy nobleman exposed him, I has- 
tened to remove him from it by conducting him, not- 
withstanding the coldness of the weather, to my donjon, 
which was quite open to the air, and had no fireplace. 
When he was there I told him my reason for having 
brought him to it. He told it to his lady, and they both 
pressed me to accept, until the floor was repaired, a lodg- 
ing at the château; or, if I preferred it, in a separate edi- 
fice called the Petit Château, which was in the middle 
of the park. This delightful abode deserves to be 
spoken of. 

The park or garden of Montmorency is not a plain, 
like that of La Chevrette. It is uneven, mountainous, 
disposed in little hills and valleys, of which the able artist 


C2254] 


THE  CONFESSIONSUUR 


has taken advantage, and thereby varied his groves, 
ornaments, waters, and points of view, and, if I may so 
speak, multiplied by art and genius a space in itself 
rather confined. This park is terminated at the top by a 
terrace and the château; at bottom it forms a gorge 
which opens and becomes wider towards the valley, the 
angle of which 1s filled up with a large piece of water. 
Between the orangery, which is in this widening, and the 
piece of water, the banks of which are agreeably deco- 
rated with shrubs and trees, stands the Petit Château of 
which I have spoken. This edifice and the ground about 
it formerly belonged to the celebrated Le Brun, who 
amused himself im building and decorating it in the 
exquisite taste for architectural ornament which that 
great painter had cultivated. The château has since 
been rebuilt, but still according to the plan and design of 
its first master. It is little and simple, but elegant. As 
it stands in a hollow between the basin of the orangery 
and the large piece of water, and consequently is liable 
to dampness, it is pierced in the middle by an open peri- 
style between two rows of columns, by which means the 
air circulating throughout the whole edifice keeps it dry, 
notwithstanding its situation. When the building 1s seen 
from the opposite elevation, which is a point of view, it 
appears absolutely surrounded with water, and we imag- 
ine we have before our eyes an enchanted island, or the 
most beautiful of the three Borromeans, called Isola 
Bella, m the Lago Maggiore. 

In this solitary edifice I was offered the choice of four 
complete suites of rooms that it contains, besides the 
ground-floor, consisting of a ball-room, billiard-room, 
and a kitchen. I chose the smallest, over the kitchen, 
which also I had with it. It was charmingly neat, with 
blue and white furniture. In this profound and delicious 
solitude, in the midst of woods and waters, the singing of 


[ 226 | 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


birds of every kind, and the perfume of orange flowers, 
Ï composed, in a continual ecstasy, the fifth book of 
Émile, the colouring of which I owed in a great measure 
to the lively impression I received from the place in which 
Ï wrote. 

With what eagerness did I run every morning at sun- 
rise to respire the perfumed air on the peristyle! What 
excellent coffee I took there téte-à-tête with my Thérèse! 
My cat and dog were our company. This retinue alone 
would have been sufficient for me during my whole life, 
in which I should not have had one weary moment. I 
was there im a terrestrial paradise; I lived in like inno- 
cence and tasted of like happiness. 

At their visit of July, Monsieur and Madame de 
Luxembourg showed me so much attention, and were so 
extremely kind, that, lodged im their house, and over- 
whelmed with their goodness, [ could not do less than 
make them a proper return in assiduous respect. I 
scarcely quitted them. I went im the morning to pay 
my court to Madame la Maréchale; after dinner I 
walked with Monsieur le Maréchal; but did not sup at 
the château on account of the numerous guests, and 
because they supped too late for me. Thus far every- 
thing was as it should be, and no harm would have been 
done could I have remamed at this point. But I have 
never known how to preserve a medium in my attach- 
ments, and simply fulfil the duties of society. I have 
always been everything or nothing. I was soon every- 
thmg; and, receiving the most flatterimg attention from 
persons of the highest rank, I passed the proper bounds, 
and conceived for them a friendship not permitted except 
among equals. Of these I had all the familiarity in my 
manners, whilst they still preserved in theirs the same 
politeness to which they had accustomed me. Yet [ was 
never quite at ease with Madame la Maréchale. Al- 


C 227 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


though I was not quite relieved from my fears relative 
to her character, [| apprehended less danger from it than 
from her wit. It was by this especially that she im- 
pressed me with awe. I knew she was difficult as to 
conversation, and she had a right to be so. I knew that 
women, especially those of her rank, would absolutely be 
amused; that it was better to offend than to weary them; 
and I judged by her commentaries upon what the people 
who went away had said what she must think of my 
blunders. Î thought of an expedient to spare me with 
her the embarrassment of speaking: this was reading. 
She had heard of Julie, and knew it was in the press; she 
expressed a desire to see the work; I offered to read it to 
her, and she accepted my offer. I went to her every morn- 
img at ten o’clock; Monsieur de Luxembourg was present, 
and the door was shut. Î read by the side of her bed, 
and so well proportioned my readimgs that there would 
have been sufficient for the whole time she had to stay, 
even had no imterruption occurred.! The success of 
this expedient surpassed my expectation. Madame de 
Luxembourg took a great likmg to Julie and its author; 
she spoke of nothimg but me, thought of nothing else, 
said civil things to me from morning till night, and em- 
braced me ten times a day. She insisted on my always 
having my place by her side at table; and when any 
grands seigneurs wished to take it she told them it was 
mine, and made them sit somewhere else. The impres- 
sion these charmimg manners made upon me, who am 
subjugated by the least mark of affection, may be easily 
judged of. I became really attached to her m propor- 
tion to the attachment she showed me. AÏl my fear im 
perceiving this mfatuation, and feeling the want of agree- 
ableness in myself to support it, was that it would be 


1 The loss of a great battle, which much affected the King, obliged 
Monsieur de Luxembourg precipitately to return to court. — KR. 


93841 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


changed into disgust; and, unfortunately, this fear was 
but too well founded. 

There must have been a natural opposition between 
her turn of mind and mine, since, independently of the 
numerous stupid thmgs which at every instant escaped 
me in conversation, and even in my letters, and when I 
was upon the best terms with her, there were certain 
other thmgs with which she was displeased without my 
bemg able to imagine the reason. I will cite but one 
instance; Î might cite twenty. She knew that I was writ- 
img for Madame d'Houdetot a copy of the Héloïse at so 
much a page. She was desirous to have one on the same 
footing. This Ï promised her; and thereby making her 
one of my customers, | wrote her a polite letter upon 
the subject — at least such was my intention. Her 
answer, which was as follows, stupefied me with surprise 
(C, No. 43): — 

‘VERSAILLES, Tuesday. 

‘I am ravished, I am satisfied: your letter has given me 
mfnite pleasure, and I take the earliest moment to acquaint 
you with and thank you for it. 

‘These are the exact words of your letter: ‘Although 
you are certaimly a very good customer, [ have some pain m 
receiving your money: according to regular order I ought 
to pay for the pleasure I should have in working for you.” ! 
Ï will say nothing more on the subject. I have to complam 
of your never speakmg of your state of health: nothing mterests 
me more. I love you with all my heart; and be assured that 
Ï write this to you in a very melancholy mood, for Ï should 
have much pleasure in tellmg it you myself. Monsieur de 
Luxembourg loves and embraces you with all his heart.’ 


On recerving the letter I hastened to answer it, reserv- 
img to myself more fully to examine the matter, protest- 


1 ‘Quoique vous soyez sûrement une très-bonne pratique, je me fais 
quelque peine de prendre votre argent; régulièrement, ce serait à moi 
de payer le plaisir que j'aurais de travailler pour vous.” 


C 229 | 


THE }CONFES SON SRE 


ing against all disobliging interpretation; and after having 
given several days to this examination, with an inquie- 
tude which may easily be conceived, and still without 
finding a solution, what follows was my final answer on 
the subject: — 

“MONTMORENCY, 8tb December, 1750. 


‘Since my last letter I have exammed a hundred times 
and more the passage in question. [ have considered it m 
its proper and natural meaning, as well as m every other 
which may be given to it, and I confess to you, Madame la 
Maréchale, that I know not whether it be I who owe you 
excuses, or you from whom they are due to me.” 


It is now ten years since these letters were written. I 
have since that time frequently thought of the subject of 
them; and such is still my stupidity that I have hitherto 
been unable to discover what, in the passage quoted from 
my letter, she could find offensive, or even displeasing. 

Ï must here mention, relative to the manuscript copy 
of the Héloïse that Madame de Luxembourg wished to 
have, in what manner I thought to give it some marked 
advantage which should distinguish it from all others. 
I had written separately the adventures of Milord Édou- 
ard, and had long been undetermimed whether I should 
insert them wholly, or in extracts, im the work in which 
they seemed to be wanting. I at [length determined to 
retrench them entirely, because, not being in the man- 
ner of the rest of the book, they would have spoiled its 
interesting simplicity. I had a still stronger reason when 
Ï came to know Madame de Luxembourg. There was im 
these adventures a Roman marchioness of odious char- 
acter, some traits of whose character, without being 
applicable, might have been applied to her by those to 
whom she was not particularly known. I was, therefore, 
highly pleased with the determination to which I had 
come, and resolved to abide by it. But, in the ardent 


C230] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


desire to enrich her copy with something which was not 
in any other, what should I fall upon but these unfor- 
tunate adventures? and I concluded on making an extract 
from them to add to the work: a project dictated 
by madness, of which the extravagance is inexplicable, 
except by the blind fatality which led me on to destruc- 
tion. 


“Quos vult perdere Jupiter dementat.” 


Ï was stupid enough to make this extract with the 
greatest care and pains, and to send it her as the finest 
thing m the world. It1s true, I at the same time informed 
her that the original was burned, which was really the 
case; that the extract was for her alone, and would never 
be seen, except by herself, unless she chose to show it; 
which, far from proving to her my prudence and discre- 
tion, as it was my intention to do, clearly intimated what 
I thought of the application by which she might be 
offended. My stupidity was such that I had no doubt of 
her being delighted with what I had done. She did not 
make me the great compliment upon it which I had ex- 
pected, and, to my great surprise, never once mentioned 
the packet I had sent her. I was so satisfied with myself 
that it was not until a long time afterwards that I judged, 
from other indications, of the effect it had produced.! 

I had still, in favour of her manuscript, another idea 
more reasonable, but which, by more distant effects, has 
not been much less prejudicial to me; so much does 
everything concur with the work of Destiny, when she 
hurries on a man to misfortune. I thought of ornament- 
mg the manuscript with the drawings made for the 

1 As the lady afterwards sent this manuscript — Les Amours d’Édouard 


Bomston — to the Genevan publishers of Rousseau’s works, it is not 


probable that she perceived any likeness between herself and the Roman 
marchioness. 
C231] 


THE :CONKESSIONSMURE 


engravings of Julie, which were of the same size. I asked 
Coindet for these designs, which belonged to me by every 
kind of title, and the more so as I had given him the 
produce of the plates, which had a considerable sale. 
Coindet is as cunning as I am the contrary. By frequently 
asking him for the drawings, he came to the knowledge 
of the use I intended to make of them. He then, under 
pretence of adding some new ornaments, still kept them 
from me, and at length presented them himself. 


‘Ego versiculos feci, tulit alter honores.? 


This gave him an imtroduction upon a certain footing 
to the Hôtel de Luxembourg. After my establishment at 
the Petit Château he came rather frequently to see me, 
and always im the mornimg, especially when Monsieur 
and Madame de Luxembourg were at Montmorency. 
Therefore, that I might pass the day with him, I did not 
go to the château. Reproaches were made to me on ac- 
count of my absences; I told the reason. I was desired 
to bring with me Monsieur Coindet; I did so. This was 
what the rogue had sought after. Therefore, thanks to 
the excessive goodness shown to me, a clerk to Monsieur 
Thélusson, who was sometimes pleased to give him a 
seat at his table when he had nobody else to dine with 
him, was suddenly placed at that of a maréchal of France, 
with princesses, duchesses, and persons of the highest 
rank at court. I shall never forget that one day, being 
obliged to return early to Paris, the Maréchal saïd, after 
dinner, to the company, ‘Let us take a walk upon the 
road to Saint-Denis; we will accompany Monsieur Coin- 
det.” This was too much for the poor man; his head was 
quite turned. For my part, my heart was so affected that 
I could not say a word. I followed the company, weeping 
Hke a child, and having the strongest desire to kiss the 
footsteps of the good Maréchal — but the continuation 


C232] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


of the history of the manuscript has made me anticipate. 
Let us go back and follow the order of time, so far as 
memory will permit. 

As soon as the little house at Mont-Louis was ready, I 
had it neatly and simply furnished, and again established 
myself there. I could not break through the resolution 
Ï had made on quitting the Hermitage of always having 
my lodging to myself; but I found a difhiculty im resolv- 
ing to quit my rooms in the Petit Château. I kept the 
key, and, being delighted with the charming breakfasts 
im the peristyle, frequently went thither to sleep, and 
stayed three or four days as at a country house. I was at 
that time perhaps better and more agreeably lodged than 
any private individual in Europe. My host, Monsieur 

Mathas, one of the best men in the world, had left me the 
._ absolute direction of the repairs at Mont-Louis, and in- 
sisted upon my disposing of his workmen without his 
imterference. [I therefore found the means of making of 
a single chamber upon the first story a complete set 
of apartments, consisting of a chamber, antechamber, 
and retirmg closet. Upon the ground-floor was the 
kitchen and Thérèse’s chamber. The donjon served me 
for a study by means of a glazed partition, and a fireplace 
had been made there. After my return to this habita- 
tion, | amused myself im decorating the terrace, which 
was already shaded by two rows of young lindens. I 
added two others to make a cabinet of verdure, and 
placed im it a table and stone benches. I surrounded it 
with lilac, seringa, and woodbines, and had a beautiful 
border of flowers parallel with the two rows of trees. 
This terrace, more elevated than that of the château, 
from which the view was at least as fine, and where I had 
tamed a great number of birds, was my drawing-room, in 
which I received Monsieur and Madame de Luxembourg, 
Monsieur le Duc de Villeroy, Monsieur le Prince de 


C 233 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


Tingry, Monsieur le Marquis d’Armentières, Madame la 
Duchesse de Montmorency, Madame [a Duchesse de 
Boufflers, Madame la Comtesse de Valentinois, Madame 
la Comtesse de Boufflers, and other persons of their 
rank; who, from the château, disdained not to make, 
over a very fatiguimg ascent, the pilgrimage of Mont- 
Louis. I owed all these visits to the favour of Monsieur 
and Madame de Luxembourg; this I felt, and my heart 
on that account did them all due homage. Ît was when 
filled with similar feelings that I once said to Monsieur 
de Luxembourg, embracimg him: ‘Ah! Monsieur le 
Maréchal, [I hated the great before I knew you, and 
Ï have hated them still more since you have shown 
me with what ease they might acquire universal 
respect. 

Further than this, I defy any person with whom I was 
then acquainted to say that I was ever dazzled for an 
instant with splendour, or that the vapour of the incense 
I received ever affected my head; that I was less uniform 
in my manner, less plain in my dress, less easy of access to 
common people, less familiar with neighbours, or less 
ready to render service to every person when I had it m 
my power so to do, without ever once being discouraged 
by the numerous and frequently unreasonable importu- 
nities with which I was incessantly assaïled. Although my 
heart led me to the Château of Montmorency by my sin- 
cere attachment to its owners, it by the same means drew 
me back to my own neighbourhood, there to taste the 
sweets of the equable and simple life in which my only 
happiness consists. ‘Thérèse had contracted a friendship 
with the daughter of one of my neïghbours, a mason named 
Pilleu. I did the same with the father. And after hav- 
ing dined im the morning at the château, not without 
some constraint, to please Madame la Maréchale, with 
what eagerness did Ï return in the evening to sup with 


C234] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


the good man Pilleu and his family, sometimes at his 
own house and at others at mine! 

Besides my two lodgings in the country, Î soon had a 
third at the Hôtel de Luxembourg, the proprietors of 
which pressed me so much to go and see them there now 
and then that I consented, notwithstanding my aversion 
to Paris, where, since my retiring to the Hermitage, I had 
been but twice, upon the two occasions of which I have 
spoken. I did not now go there except on the days agreed 
upon, solely to supper, and the next morning I returned 
home. I entered and left by the garden which faces the 
boulevard, so that I could with the greatest truth say 
that I had not set my foot upon the stones of Paris. 

In the midst of this transient prosperity, a catastrophe, 
which was to be the conclusion of it, was preparing at a 
distance. À short time after my return to Mont-Louis 
I made there — and, as was customary, against my 
imclination — a new acquaintance, which makes another 
epoch in my history. Whether this be favourable or un- 
favourable, the reader will hereafter be able to judge. 
The person was the Madame la Marquise de Verdelin, 
my neighbour, whose husband had just bought a country 
house at Soisy, near Montmorency. Mademoiselle d’Ars, 
daughter of the Comte d’Ars, a man of quality, but poor, 
had espoused Monsieur de Verdelin, old, ugly, deaf, un- 
couth, brutal, jealous, with scars on his face and blind of 
one eye, but, upon the whole, a pretty good man when 
properly managed, and in possession of a fortune of 
from fifteen to twenty thousand livres a year, to which 
they had married her. This charming object — swear- 
ing, roaring, scolding, storming, and makimg his wife cry 
all day long — ended by doing whatever she thought 
proper, and this to set her in a rage, seeing that she 
would fain persuade him that it was he who would, and 
she who would not have it so. Monsieur de Margency, 


C 235 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


of whom I have spoken, was the friend of Madame, and 
became that of Monsieur. He had a few years before 
let them his château of Margency, near Eaubonne and 
Andilly, and they resided there precisely at the time of 
my passion for Madame d’Houdetot. Madame d’Houde- 
tot and Madame de Verdelin became acquamted with 
each other by means of Madame d’Aubeterre, their 
common friend; and as the garden of Margency was in 
the road by which Madame d’Houdetot went to Mont- 
Olympe, her favourite walk, Madame de Verdelin gave 
her a key that she might pass through it. By means of 
this key I crossed it several times with her; but I did not 
Ike unexpected meetings, and when Madame de Verdelin 
was by chance upon our way I left them together without 
speakmg to her, and went on before. This want of gal- 
lantry must have made on her an impression unfavour- 
able to me. Yet when she was at Soisy she was anxious 
to have my company. She came several times to see me 
at Mont-Louis, without fndimg me at home; and per- 
ceiving that I did not return her visit, she took it into 
her head, as a means of forcing me to do it, to send me 
pots of flowers for my terrace. Î was under the necessity 
of going to thank her; this was all she wanted, and we 
thus became acquainted. 

This connection, like every other that [I was led mto 
contrary to my inclhination, began rather boisterously. 
There never reigned im it a real calm. The turn of mind 
of Madame de Verdelin was far too opposite to mine. 
Bitter sayings and pointed sarcasms came from her 
with so much simplicity, that a continual attention, too 
fatigumg for me, was necessary to detect when she was 
mockimg the hearer. One trivial circeumstance which 
occurs to my recollection will be sufficient to give an 
idea of her manner. Her brother had just obtained the 
command of a frigate cruismg against the English. E 


C 236] E 


nJEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


spoke of the manner of fitting out this frigate without 
diminishing its swiftness of saïling. ‘Yes,’ replied she in 
the most natural tone of voice, ‘no more cannon are 
taken than are necessary for fighting.” I seldom have 
heard her speak well of any of her absent friends without 
letting slip something to their prejudice. What she did 
not see with an evil eye she looked upon with one of 
ridicule, and her friend Margency was not excepted. 
What I found most msupportable im her was the per- 
petual constraint proceeding from her little messages, 
presents, and büllets, which it was a labour for me to 
answer, and Ï had continual embarrassments either in 
thanking or refusing. However, by frequently seemg 
this lady, I became attached to her. She had her troubles 
as Ï had mme. Reciprocal confidence rendered our con- 
versations interesting. Nothing so cordially attaches 
two persons as the satisfaction of weeping together. We 
sought the company of each other for our consolation, 
and the want of this has frequently made me pass over 
many things. I had been so severe in my frankness with 
her, that, after having sometimes shown so little esteem 
for her character, a great deal was necessary to enable 
me to believe that she could sincerely forgive me. The 
followmg letter is a specimen of the epistles Î sometimes 
wrote to her, and it is to be remarked that she never once 
in any of her answers to them seemed to be in the least 
degree piqued. 
“MonTMoRENCY, 5th November, 1760. 


‘Vou tell me, madame, that you have not explamed your- 
self, in order to make me understand that I have explamed 
myself 1. You speak of your pretended stupidity for the 
purpose of making me feel my own. You boast of bemg 
nothing more than a good kind of woman, as if you were 
afraid to be taken at your word, and you make me apologies 
to let me know that I owe them to you. Yes, madame, I know 
it; it is I who am the fool, a simple kind of man; and, if it be 


2370 


THE CONFESSIONS 


possible, worse than all this; it is I who made a bad choice of 
my expressions in the opinion of a fine French lady, who pays 
as much attention to words and speaks as well as you do. But 
consider that Î[ take them in the common meaning of the 
language, without knowing or troubling my head about the 
polite acceptations im which they are taken in the virtuous 
societies of Paris. If my expressions are sometimes equivocal, 
I endeavour by my conduct to determine their meanimg,’ etc. 


The rest of the letter is much the same. See the reply 
to it (D, No. 41), and judge therefrom the incredible 
moderation that reigns im the heart of a woman who 
could entertain no more resentment against such a letter 
than that reply shows, nor ever exhibited any sign of 
such resentment to me. Comdet, enterprismg, bold even 
to effrontery, and who was upon the watch after all my 
friends, soon introduced himself in my name to the house 
of Madame de Verdelin, and, unknown to me, shortly 
became there more familiar than myself. This Coindet 
was an extraordinary man. He presented himself in my 
name in the houses of all my acquaintance, gaimed a 
footing in them, and ate there without ceremony. Trans- 
ported with zeal to do me service, he never mentioned 
my name without tears; but, when he came to see me, 
he kept the most profound silence on the subject of all 
these connections, and of everything m which he knew I 
must be interested. Instead of telling me what he had 
heard, saïd, or seen, relative to my affairs, he merely lis- 
tened, and even imterrogated me. He never knew any- 
thing of what passed in Paris, except that which I told 
him. Finally, although everybody spoke to me of him, 
he never once spoke to me of any person; he was secret 
and mysterious with his friend only. But I will, for the 
present, leave Coindet and Madame de Verdelin, and 
revert to them at a proper time. 

Some time after my return to Mont-Louis, La Tour, 


23941 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


the painter, came to see me, and brought with him my 
portrait in crayons, which a few years before he had 
exhibited at the Salon. He had wished to give me this 
portrait, which I did not choose to accept. But Madame 
d’Épinay, who had given me hers, and would have had 
this, prevailed upon me to ask him for it. He had taken 
some time to retouch it. In the imterval happened my 
rupture with Madame d’'Epinay. I returned her portrait, 
and giving her mine bemg no longer in question, I put it 
imto my chamber im the Petit Château. Monsieur de 
Luxembourg saw it there, and thought it a good one; I 
offered it to him, he accepted it, and I sent it to him. He 
and Madame la Maréchale comprehended that I should 
be glad to have theirs. They had them taken in minia- 
ture by a very skilful hand, set im a box of rock crystal, 
mounted with gold, and in a very handsome manner, 
with which [I was delighted, presented them to me. 
Madame de Luxembourg would never consent that her 
portrait should be on the upper part of the box. She had 
reproached me several times with lovmg Monsieur de 
Luxembourg better than her; [I had not denied it, be- 
cause it was true. By this manner of placing her portrait 
she showed, very politely, but very clearly, that she had 
not forgotten the preference. 

Much about this time Ï[ was guilty of a folly which 
did not contribute to preserve to me her good graces. 
Although I had no knowledge of Monsieur de Silhouette, 
and was not much disposed to like him, Ï[ had a great 
opinion of his administration. When he began to let his 
hand fall rather heavily upon financiers, I perceirved that 
he did not begin his operation im a favourable moment; 
but he had my warmest wishes for his success, and as 
soon as Ï heard that he was displaced, I wrote to him, im 
my heedless manner, the following letter, which [ cer- 
tainly do not undertake to justify: — 


C239 ] 


THE CONFESSIONSMOr 


“Montmorency, 2nd December, 1750. 


‘Vouchsafe, monsieur, to receive the homage of a solitary 
man, who is not known to you, but who esteems you for your 
talents, respects you for your administration, and who did 
you the honour to believe you would not long remain in it. 
Unable to save the State, except at the expense of the capital 
by which it has been rumed, you have braved the clamours 
of the money-seekers. When Î saw you crush these wretches, 
I envied you your place; and at seemg you quit it without 
retractation, Ï admire you. Be satisfied with yourself, monsieur; 
the step that you have taken will leave you an honour which 
you will Jong enjoy without a competitor. The malediction of 
RER is the glory of an honest man. 


[1760.] Madame de Luxembourg, who knew I had 
written this letter, spoke to me of it when she came into 
the country at Easter. I showed it to her, and she was 
desirous of a copy; this I gave her, but when I did it I 
did not know that she was one of those money-seekers 
who were concerned in the sub-farming of the taxes, and 
in the displacing of Monsieur de Silhouette. By my 
numerous follies any person would have imagined that I 
wilfully endeavoured to bring on myself the hatred of an 
amiable woman who had power; to whom, im truth, I 
daily became more attached, and whose displeasure I 
was far from desiring to incur, although by my awkward 
manner of proceeding Î did everything proper for that 
purpose. I think it is almost superfluous to remark here 
that it is to her that the story of the opiate of Monsieur 
Tronchin, of which I have spoken im the first part, relates; 
the other lady was Madame de Mirepoix. They have 
never mentioned to me the circumstances, nor has either 
of them seemed to have preserved the least remembrance 
of it; but to presume that Madame de Luxembourg can 
possibly have forgotten it, appears to me very difficult, 
and would still remain so, even were the subsequent 
events entirely unknown. For my part, I fell into a 


C 240 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


deceitful security relative to the effects of my stupid 
mistakes, by an internal consciousness of my not having 
taken any step with an intention to offend, as if a woman 
could ever pardon such things, although she might be 
certain that the will had not the least part in the matter. 

Although she seemed not to see or feel anything, and 
though I did not immediately find either her warmth of 
friendship diminished or the least change im her man- 
ner, the continuation and even increase of a too well- 
founded foreboding made me incessantly tremble, lest 
indifference should succeed to imfatuation. Was it pos- 
sible for me to expect im a lady of such high rank a con- 
stancy proof against my want of address to support it? 
Ï was unable to conceal from her this secret foreboding, 
which made me uneasy, and rendered me still more 
disagreeable. This will be judged of by the following 
letter, which contains a very smgular prediction. 

N.B. — This letter, without date im my rough copy, 
was written in October 1760 at latest. 


“How cruel is your goodness! Why disturb the peace of 
a solitary mortal, who had renounced the pleasures of life 
that he might no longer suffer the fatigues of them? I have 
passed my days im vainly searchmg for solid attachments. 
Ï have not been able to form any im the ranks to which I was 
equal; is it in yours that [I ought to seek for them? Neither 
ambition nor interest can tempt me. Î am not vai, and but 
little fearful. I can resist everything except caresses. Why, 
then, do you both attack me by a weakness which [ must 
overcome, seeing that in the distance by which we are separated 
the overflowings of susceptible hearts cannot bring mine near 
to you? Will gratitude be sufficient for a heart which knows 
not two manners of bestowing its affections, and feels itself 
incapable of everything except friendship? Of friendship, 
Madame la Maréchale! Ah! there is my misfortune. It 1s 
good im you and Monsieur le Maréchal to make use of this 
expression; but I am mad when I take you at your word. You 
amuse yourselves, and I become attached; and the end of the 


C241] 


THE CONFESSIONSNORr 


game prepares for me new regrets. How do I hate all your 
titles, ont pity you in being obliged to bear them! You seem 
to me to be so worthy of tasting the charms of private life! 
Why do you not reside at Clarens? I would go there in search 
of happiness; but the Château de Montmorency, and the 
Hôtel de Luxembourg! Is it in these places that Jean-Jacques 
ought to be seen? Is it thither that a friend to equality ought 
to carry the affection of a sensible heart, and who,thus payimg 
the esteem in which he is held, thinks he renders as much as 
he receives? You are good and susceptible also: this I know 
and have seen. Î am sorry Î was not sooner convinced of it; 
but in the rank you hold, in your manner of living, nothmg 
can make a lasting impression: new objects succeed and efface 
each other so that not one of them remains. You will forget 
me, madame, after having made it Impossible for me to imitate 
you. You will have done a great deal to render me unhappy, 
and to be mexcusable.? 


I joined with her Monsieur de Luxembourg, to render 
the compliment less severe; for [| was moreover so sure of 
him that I never had a doubt in my mind of the con- 
tinuance of his friendship. Nothing that mtimidated me 
in Madame de Maréchale ever for a moment extended 
to him. I never have had the least mistrust relative to 
his character, which I knew to be feeble, but constant. 
Ï no more feared a coldness on his part than I expected 
from him an heroic attachment. The simplicity and 
familiarity of our manners with each other proved how 
far dependence was reciprocal. We were both always 
right. I shall ever honour and hold dear the memory of 
this worthy nobleman, and, notwithstanding everything 
that was done to detach him from me, Î am as certain of 
his having died my friend as if I had received his latest 
breath. 

At the second journey to Montmorency, in the year 
1760, the reading of Julie being finished, I had recourse 
to that of Émile, to support myself in the good graces of 
Madame de Luxembourg; but this, whether the subject 


L242] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


was less to her taste or that so much reading at length 
fatigued her, did not succeed so well. However, as she 
reproached me with suffering myself to be the dupe of 
booksellers, she wished me to leave to her care the print- 
img of the work, that [ might reap from it a greater ad- 
vantage. Î consented to her doing so, on the express con- 
dition of its not being printed in France, on which we had 
a long dispute, [ affirming that it was impossible to ob- 
tam, and even imprudent to solicit, a tacit permission, 
and being unwilling to permit the impression upon any 
other terms im the kimgdom; she, that the censor could 
not make the least difficulty according to the system 
Government had adopted. She found means to make 
Monsieur de Malesherbes enter into her views. He wrote 
to me on the subject a long letter with his own hand, to 
prove the Profession of Faith of the Savoyard Vicar to be 
a composition which must everywhere gain the approba- 
tion of mankind, and that of the Court as thimgs were 
then circumstanced. [I was surprised to see this magis- 
trate, always so cautious, become so smooth im the busi- 
ness. As the printimg of a book of which he approved 
was by that alone legal, I had no longer any objection 
to make regarding this work. Yet by an extraordimary 
scruple I still required that it should be printed in Hol- 
land, and by the bookseller Néaulme, whom, not satis- 
fied with mdicating, I informed of my wishes, consenting, 
moreover, that the edition should be brought out for the 
profit of a French bookseller, and that as soon as it was 
ready it should be sold at Paris, or wherever else it might 
be thought proper, for with this I had no manner of con- 
cern. This is exactly what was agreed upon between 
Madame de Luxembourg and myself, after which I gave 
her my manuscript. 

She was this time accompanied by her grand- 
daughter, Mademoiselle de Boufflers, now Madame 


C 243 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS" Or 


la Duchesse de Lauzun. Her name was Amélie. She 
was a charming girl. She really had a maiden beauty, 
mildness, and timidity. Nothing could be more lovely 
and engaging than her person, nothing more chaste and 
tender than the sentiments she mspired. She was, 
besides, still a child under eleven years of age. Madame 
la Maréchale, who thought her too timid, used every 
endeavour to animate her. She permitted me several 
times to give her a kiss, which I did with my usual awk- 
wardness. Instead of saying pretty thimgs to her, as any 
other person would have done, I remamed silent and dis- 
concerted, and I know not which of the two, the little 
girl or myself, was most ashamed. I met her one day 
alone on the starrcase of the Petit Château. She had been 
to see Thérèse, with whom her governess still was. Not 
knowing what else to say, I proposed to her a kiss, which, 
in the imnocence of her heart, she did not refuse, having 
in the morning received one from me by order of her 
grandmother, and in her presence. The next day, while 
reading Émile by the bedside of Madame de Luxem- 
bourg, Î came to a passage in which [ justly censure 
that which [I had done the preceding evening. She 
thought the reflection extremely just, and said some very 
sensible things upon the subject, which made me blush. 
How enraged was ÎI at my imcredible stupidity, which 
has so often given me the appearance of baseness and 
guilt, when Î was nothing more than a fool and embar- 
rassed! a stupidity which, in a man known to be endowed 
with some wit, is considered as a false excuse. [I can 
safely swear that m this reprehensible kiss, as well as m 
the others, the heart and feelings of Mademoiselle Amélie 
were not more pure than my own, and that if Ï could. 
have avoided meeting her I should have done it — not 
that I had not great pleasure in seeing her, but from the 
embarrassment of not finding a happy word to say in 


C 244] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


passing. Whence comes it that even a child can intimi- 
date a man whom the power of kings has never inspired 
with fear? What is to be done? How, without presence 
of mind, am I to act? If I strive to speak to the persons 
I meet, I infallibly say some stupid thing; if Î remain si- 
lent I am a misanthrope, an unsociable animal, a bear. 
Total imbecility would have been more favourable to me, 
but the talents which I have lacked in the world have be- 
come the instruments of my destruction, and of that of 
the talents Î possessed. 

At the latter end of this sojourn Madame de Luxem- 
bourg did a good action, im which I had some share. 
Diderot having very imprudently offended Madame la 
Princesse de Robeck, daughter of Monsieur de Luxem- 
bourg, Palissot, whom she protected, avenged her by the 
comedy of Les Philosophes, in which I was ridiculed, and 
Diderot very roughly handled. The author treated me 
with more gentleness, less, [| am of opinion, on account 
of the obligation he was under to me than from the fear 
of displeasing the father of his protectress, by whom he 
knew I was beloved. The bookseller Duchesne, with 
whom IÎ was not at that time acquainted, sent me this 
piece when it was printed, and this I suspect was by the 
order of Palissot, who perhaps thought I should have a 
pleasure In seeing a man with whom [I was no longer con- 
nected defamed. He was greatly deceirved. When I 
broke with Diderot, whom [I thought less 1Il-natured than 
weak and indiscreet, I still always preserved for him an 
attachment, an esteem even, and a respect for our ancient 
friendship, which I know was for a long time as sincere on 
his part as on mine. The case was quite different with 
Grimm, a man false by nature, who never loved me, who 
is not even capable of friendship, and a person who, out 
of mere wantonness, without the least subject of com- 
plaint, and solely to satisfy his gloomy jealousy, became, 


C 245 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


under the mask of friendship, my most cruel calumniator. 
This man is to me but a cipher; the other will always be 
my old friend. My very bowels yearned at the sight of 
this odious piece; the reading of it was insupportable to 
me, and, without going through the whole, [ returned the 
copy to Duchesne with the following letter: — 


“MONTMORENCY, 21st May, 1760. 


‘In casting my eye over the piece you sent me, Monsieur, 
I trembled at seerng myself well spoken of im it. [I do not 
accept the horrid present. I am persuaded that in sending 
it to me you did not imtend an insult; but you do not know, 
or have forgotten, that I have the honour to be the friend of a 
respectable man who is shamefully defamed and calumniated 
in this libel.” 


Duchesne showed this letter. Diderot,upon whom it 
ought to have had an effect quite contrary, was vexed at 
it. His pride could not forgive me the superiority of a 
generous action, and Î was informed that his wife every- 
where inveighed against me with a bitterness with which 
[I was not affected, as I knew that she was known to 
everybody as a noisy babbler. 

Diderot m his turn found an avenger in the Abbé 
Morellet, who wrote against Palissot a little work, imi- 
tated from the Petit Prophète, and entitled La Vision. 
In this production he very imprudently offended Madame 
de Robeck, whose friends got him sent to the Bastille, 
though she, not naturally vindictive, and at that time im a 
dymg state, Ï am certain had nothing to do in the affair. 

D’Alembert, who was very intimately connected with 
Morellet, wrote me a letter desiring that I would beg of 
Madame de Luxembourg to solicit his liberty, promising 
her in return encomiums im the Encyclopédie! My 
answer to his letter was as follows: — 


1 This letter, with many others, disappeared from the Hôtel de Luxem- 
bourg, while my papers were deposited there. — KR. 


C 246 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


‘I did not wait the receipt of your letter, Monsieur, before 
Ï expressed to Madame la Maréchale de Luxembourg the con- 
cern that the confinement of the Abbé Morellet gave me. She 
knows the interest I take in this, and shall be made acquainted 
with yours, and her knowing that the abbé is a man of merit 
will be sufficient to make her interest herself in his behalf. 
However, although she and the Maréchal honour me with & 
benevolence which is my greatest consolation, and that the name 
of your friend be to them a recommendation in favour of the 
Abbé Morellet, I know not how far on this occasion it may be 
Fo for them to employ the credit attached to the rank they 

old, and the consideration due to their persons. I am not even 
convinced that the vengeance Im question relates to Madame 
la Princesse de Robeck so much as you seem to imagine; and, 
even were this the case, we must not suppose that the pleasure 
of vengeance belongs to philosophers exclusively, and that 
when they choose to become women, women will become 
philosophers. 

‘I will communicate to you whatever Madame de Luxem- 
bourg may say to me after having shown her your letter. In 
the meantime, I think I know her well enough to assure you 
beforehand, that, should she have the pleasure of contributing 
to the release of the Abbé Morellet, she will not accept the 
tribute of acknowledgment you promise her m the Encyclopédie, 
although she might think herself honoured by it, because she 
does not do good in the expectation of praise, but from the 
dictates of her heart.’ 


Ï made every effort to excite the zeal and commisera- 
tion of Madame de Luxembourg in favour of the poor 
captive, and succeeded to my wishes. She went to Ver- 
saïilles on purpose to speak to Monsieur le Comte de 
Saint-Florentin, and this journey shortened the residence 
at Montmorency, which Monsieur le Maréchal was 
obliged to quit at the same time to go to Rouen, whither 
the King sent him as Governor of Normandy, on account 
of some motions of the Parliament, which Government 
wished to keep withim bounds. Madame de Luxembourg 
wrote me the following letter two days after her depar- 
Eure (D, No. 23): — 

C 247] 


THE CONFESSIONS'UOF 


‘VERSAILLES, Wednesday. 

‘Monsieur de Luxembourg set off yesterday morning at 
six o’clock. I do not know yet whether 1 shall follow him. 
I wait until he writes to me, as he is not yet certain of the stay 
it will be necessary for him to make. I have seen Monsieur 
de Saint-Florentin, who is as favourably disposed as possible 
towards the Abbé Morellet, but he finds some obstacles to his 
wishes, which, however, he is in hopes of removing the first 
time he has to do business with the King, which will be next 
week. I have also desired as a favour that he might not be 
exiled, because this was mtended: he was to be sent to Nancy. 
This, Monsieur, is what I have been able to obtain, but I 
promise you [ will not let Monsieur de Saint-Florentm rest 
until the affair is termimated m the manner you desire. Let 
me now express to you how sorry Ï am on account of my being 
obliged to leave you so soon, but I flatter myself you do not 
doubt this. I love you with all my heart, and shall do so for 

my whole life.” 


A few days afterwards I received the following note 
from D’Alembert, which gave me real joy (D, No. 26): — 


“August 15t. 


‘Thanks to your cares, my dear philosopher, the ABb6 has 
left the Bastille, and his imprisonment will have no other 
consequence. He is settimg off for the country, and, as well 
as myself, returns you a thousand thanks and compliments. 
Vale, et me ama.’ 


The Abbé also wrote to me a few days afterwards a 
letter of thanks (D, No. 29), which, in my opinion, failed 
to breathe a certain effusion of the heart, and in which 
he seemed im some measure to extenuate the service I 
had rendered him. Some time afterwards, I found that he 
and D’Alembert had, in some sort, I will not say sup- 
planted, but succeeded me in the good graces of Madame 
de Luxembourg, and that I had lost in this respect as 
much as they had gained. However, I am far from sus- 
pecting the Abbé Morellet of having contributed to my 
disgrace. Î have too much esteem for him to harbour 


C248 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


any such suspicion. With respect to D’Alembert, I shall 
at present leave him out of the question, and shall speak 
of him again hereafter. 

Ï had, at the same time, another affair which occa- 
sioned the Jast letter that I wrote to Voltaire — a letter 
against which he vehemently exclaimed, as an abomi- 
nable insult, although he never showed it to any persons. 
I will here supply the want of that which he refused to do. 

The Abbé Trublet, with whom I had a slight acquaint- 
ance, but whom I had but seldom seen, wrote to me on the 
13th of June, 1760 (D, No. 11), imforming me that Mon- 
sieur Formey, his friend and correspondent, had printed, 
in his journal, my letter to Voltaire upon the disaster at 
Lisbon. The Abbé wished to know how the letter came 
to be printed, and, im his shrewd, jesuitical manner, 
asked me my opinion, without giving me his own, on the 
necessity of reprinting it. As Î most sovereignly hate 
tricksters of his kind, Î returned such thanks as were 
proper, but in a manner so reserved as to make him feel 
it,although it did not prevent him from wheedling me im 
two or three other letters until he had gathered all that 
he wished to know. 

I clearly understood, notwithstandimg all Trublet 
could say, that Formey had not found the letter printed, 
and that the first impression of it came from himself. I 
knew him to be an impudent pilferer, who, without cere- 
mony, made himself a revenue by the works of others, 
although he had not yet had the vile effrontery to take 
from a book already published the name of the author, 
to put his own im its place, and to sell the book for his 
own profit.! But by what means had this manuscript 
fallen into his hands? That was a question easy to re- 
solve, but by which I had the weakness to be embarrassed. 
Although Voltaire was excessively honoured by the letter, 


1 In this manner he afterwards appropriated Émile. — R. 


C 249 ] 


THE CONFESSIONSIOE 


he would yet, notwithstanding his rude proceedings, have 
had a right to complain had I printed it without his con- 
sent, so Î resolved to write to him upon the subject. The 
second letter was as follows, to which he returned no 
answer, and with which, giving greater scope to his bru- 
tality, he feigned to be irritated to fury: — 


‘MoNTMORENCY, 17tb June, 1760. 


‘I did not think, Monsieur, I should ever have occasion to 
correspond with you again. But, learning that the letter I 
wrote to you in 1756 has been printed at Berlin, I owe you an 
account of my conduct in that respect, and will fulfil this duty 
with truth and simplicity. 

‘The letter havmg been directly addressed to you, was not 
intended to be printed. ÎI communicated the contents of it, 
on certain conditions, to three persons, to whom the rights of 
friendship did not permit me to refuse anything of the kind, 
and whom the same rights still less permitted to abuse my 
confidence by betraymg their promise. These persons are 
Madame de Chenonceaux, daughter-in-law to Madame Dupin; 
the Comtesse d’Houdetot; and a German named Monsieur 
Grimm. Madame de Chenonceaux was desirous that the 
letter should be printed, and asked my consent; I told her 
that depended upon yours. This was asked of you, which you 
refused, and the matter dropped. 

‘However, Monsieur l'Abbé Trublet, with whom I have not 
the least connection, has just written to me from a motive of 
the most polite attention, that having received the sheets of a 
journal of Monsieur Formey, he found im them this same letter 
with a note, dated 23rd October, 1750, im which the editor states 
that he had a few weeks before found it in the shops of the 
booksellers of Berlin, and, as it is one of those loose sheets 
which quickly disappear, he thought proper to give it a place im 
his journal. 

“This, Monsieur, is all I know of the matter. It is certain 
that the letter had not until very lately been even heard of at 
Paris. It is also as certain that the copy, either in manuscript 
or print, fallen mto the hands of Monsieur Formey, could never 
have reached them except by your means, which is not probable, 
or through one of the three persons I have mentioned. Finally, 


C250 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


it is well known that the two ladies are incapable of such a 
perfidy. I cannot, in my retirement, learn more relative to 
the affair. You have a wide correspondence, by means of 
which you may, if you think it worth the trouble, go back to 
the source and verify the fact. 

‘In the same letter Monsieur l'Abbé Trublet informs me 
that he keeps the paper in reserve, and will not lend it without 
my consent, which most assuredly I will not give. But this 
copy may not be the only one in Paris. I wish, Monsieur, that 
the letter may not be printed there, and I will do all in my power 
to prevent this from happening; but, if I cannot succeed, and 
that timely perceiving it, I can have the preference, I will not 
then hesitate to have it immediately printed. This to me 
appears just and natural. 

“With respect to your answer to the same letter, it has not 
been communicated to any one, and you may be assured it 
shall not be printed without your consent,! which I shall cer- 
taimly not be mdiscreet enough to ask of you, well knowing that 
what one man writes to another is not written to the public. 
But should you choose to write one that you wish to have 
published, and address it to me, Î promise you faithfully to 
add it to my letter, and not to make to it a single word of reply. 

‘I love you not, Monsieur; you have done me, your disciple 
and enthusiastic admirer, mjuries that might have caused me 
the most exquisite pain. You have rumed Geneva, in return 
for the asylum it has afforded you; you have alienated from 
me my fellow-citizens, in return for the eulogiums Ï made of 
you amongst them; it is you who render to me the residence 
of my own country insupportable; it is you who will oblige me 
to die in a foreign land, deprived of all the consolations due to 
the dymg, and cause me to be thrown unhonoured upon the 
common dust-heap, whilst all the honours a man can expect 
will accompany you in my country. Fimally, I hate you because 
you have been desirous that I should; but I hate you as a man 
more worthy of lovmg you had you chosen it. Of all the 
sentiments with which my heart was penetrated for you, there 
only remain the admiration which cannot be refused to your 
fine genius, and a love for your writimgs. If I can honour 


1This has reference to his own lifetime and mine, and surely the most 
precise rules of procedure, especially with a man who tramples all such 
considerations underfoot, could not exact more. — KR. 


C251] 


THE CONFESSIONS 


nothmg in you except your talents, the fault is not mime. I 
shall never be wanting In the respect due to them, nor in that 
which this respect requires. Adieu, Monsieur.” ! 


In the midst of these little literary squabbles which 
still fortified my resolution, Î[ received the greatest 
honours letters ever acquired me, and of which I was the 
most sensible, in the two visits that Monsieur le Prince 
de Conti deigned to make to me, one at the Petit Château 
and the other at Mont-Louis. He even chose the time 
for both of these when Madame de Luxembourg was not 
at Montmorency, in order to render it more manifest 
that he came there solely on my account. I have never 
had a doubt of my owing the first condescensions of this 
Prince to Madame de Luxembourg and Madame de 
Boufflers; but I am yet of opinion that [ owe to his own 
sentiments and to myself those with which he has since 
that time continually honoured me.? 

My apartments at Mont-Louis being small, and the 
situation of the donjon charming, Î conducted the Prince 
to it, where, to complete the condescension he was pleased 
to show me, he chose that I should have the honour of 
playing with him a game at chess. I knew that he beat 
the Chevalier de Lorenzi, who played better than I did. 
However, notwithstandmg the signs and grimaces of the 
Chevalier and the spectators, which I feigned not to see, 
Ï won the two games that we played. When they were 
ended, I said to him m a respectful but grave manner: 

1It will be observed that after this letter was written, nearly seven 
years elapsed before Î mentioned or showed it to a living soul. The case 
was similar respecting the two letters that Monsieur Hume forced me to 
write to him [last summer, until he made that clamour of which all are 
aware. The ill that I am obliged to communicate to my enemies I utter 
secretly to themselves; as for the good, when there is any, 1 proclaim 
it publicly and frankly. — R. 

2 Remark the perseverance of this blind and stupid confidence in the 


midst of all the treatment which should soonest have undeceived me. It 
continued until my return to Paris in 1770. — KR. 


C252] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


‘Monseigneur, Ï honour your Serene Highness too much 
not to beat you always at chess.” This great prince, who 
had real wit, sense, and knowledge, and so was worthy 
not to be treated with mean adulation, felt in fact, at 
least I think so, that [ was the only person present who 
treated him like a man, and I have every reason to be- 
leve that he was pleased with me for it. 

Had this even not been the case, I should not have 
reproached myself with having been unwillmg to deceive 
him in anything, and I certainly cannot do it with hav- 
ing in my heart made an üll return for his goodness, but 
solely with having sometimes done it with an ill grace, 
whilst he himself accompanied with infinite gracefulness 
the manner in which he showed me the signs of it. A 
few days afterwards he ordered a hamper of game to be 
sent to me, which I received as I ought. This im a little 
time was succeeded by another, and one of his game- 
keepers wrote me, by order of his Highness, that the 
game it contained had been shot by the Prince himself. 
Î[ received this second hamper, but [ wrote to Madame 
de Boufflers that I would not receive a third. This 
letter was generally blamed, and deservedly so. Refusing 
to accept presents of game from a Prince of the blood, 
who, moreover, sends it in so polite a manner, is less the 
delicacy of a haughty man, who wishes to preserve his 
imdependence, than the rusticity of a clown who does not 
know himself. I have never reperused this letter in my 
collection without blushimg and reproachmg myself for 
having written it. But I have not undertaken my Con- 
fessions with an intention of concealing my faults, and 
that of which I have just spoken is too shocking in my 
own eyes to suffer me to pass it over in silence. 

If I were not guilty of the offence of becoming his 
rival, I was very near it; for Madame de Boufllers was 
still his mistress, and I knew nothing of the matter. She 


C 253 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


came rather frequently to see me with the Chevalier de 
Lorenzi. She was yet young and beautiful, affected the 
old Roman tone, and my mind was always romantic, 
which was much of the same nature. I was near bemg 
enmeshed; [I believe she perceived it; the Chevalier saw 
it also — at least he spoke to me upon the subject, and m 
a manner not discouraging. But [| was now reasonable, 
and at the age of fifty it was time [I should be so. Full 
of the doctrine I had just preached to greybeards in my 
letter to D’Alembert, [I should have been ashamed of not 
profiting by it myself; besides, coming to the knowledge 
of that of which I had been ignorant, Î must have been 
mad to have carried my pretensions so far as to expose 
myself to such an illustrious rivalry. Finally, 1ll cured 
perhaps of my passion for Madame d’Houdetot, I felt 
nothing could replace it in my heart, and I bade adieu to 
love for the rest of my life. At the time of writing, I 
have just experienced, from a young woman who had 
designs, very dangerous allurements, and glances from 
very disquieting eyes; but, 1f she feigned to forget my 
twelve lustres, Î remember them. After having thus 
withdrawn myself from danger, I am no longer afraid of 
a fall, and I answer for myself for the rest of my days. 

Madame de Boufflers, percerving the emotion she caused 
in me, might also observe that I had triumphed over it. 
I am neither mad nor vain enough to believe that at my 
age Î was capable of inspiring her with the same feel- 
imgs; but, from certain words which she let drop to 
Thérèse, I thought I had inspired her with a little curi- 
osity. If this be the case, and that she has not forgiven 
me the disappomtment she met with, it must be con- 
fessed that [ was indeed born to be the victim of my 
weakness, since triumphant love was so prejudicial to 
me, and conquered love not less so. 

Here finishes the collection of letters which has served 


C254] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


me as a guide in the last two books. My steps will in 
future be directed by memory only; but this is of such a 
nature, relative to the cruel period to which I am now 
come, and the strong impression of objects has remained 
so perfectly upon my mind, that, lost in the immense sea 
of my misfortunes, Î cannot forget the details of my first 
shipwreck, although the consequences present to me but 
a confused remembrance. [I therefore shall be able to 
proceed in the succeeding book with sufficient confidence. 
If I go further, it will be but groping im the dark. 


C255] 


BOOK XI 


[1761] 


LTHOUGH Julie, which for a long time had been 
A in the press, did not yet, at the end of the year 
1760, appear, the work already began to make a 

great noïse. Madame de Luxembourg had spoken of it 
at Court, and Madame d’Houdetot at Paris. The latter 
had even obtained from me permission for Saint-Lambert 
to read the manuscript to the King of Poland, who had 
been delighted with it. Duclos, to whom I had also 
given the perusal of the work, had spoken of it at the 
Academy. Al Paris was impatient to see the novel; the 
booksellers of the Rue Saint-Jacques and the Palais 
Royal were beset with people, who came to inquire when 
it was to be published. It was at length brought out, 
and its success answered, contrary to custom, to the im- 
patience with which it had been expected.! Madame 
La Dauphine, who was one of the first who read it, spoke 
of it to Monsieur de Luxembourg as a ravishing per- 
formance. The opinions of men of letters differed from 
each other; but im those of every other class approba- 
tion was general, especially with the women, who became 
so intoxicated with the book and the author, that there 
were few, even in the higher ranks, over whom I might 
not have achieved an easy conquest had I attempted it. 
Of this I have such proofs as I will not commit to paper, 
and which, without the aïd of experience, authorise my 


1 For some time after its appearance it was lent for reading at the 
rate of twelve sous an hour. 


C 256 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


opinion. Ît is singular that the book should have suc- 
ceeded better in France than in the rest of Europe, al- 
though the French, both men and women, are rather 
severely treated in it. Contrary to my expectation, it 
was least successful in Switzerland, and most so in Paris. 
Do friendship, love, and virtue, then, reign m Paris more 
than elsewhere? Certainly not; but there still reigns 
there that exquisite sensibility which transports the heart 
m presence of their image, and makes us cherish in others 
the pure, tender, and virtuous sentiments we no longer 
possess. Corruption is everywhere the same; virtue and 
morality no longer exist in Europe; but, 1f the least love 
of them still remains, it is in Paris that this will be 
found. 

In the midst of so many prejudices and feigned pas- 
sions, the real sentiments of nature are not to be dis- 
tinguished from others, unless we well know how to ana- 
Iyse the human heart. A very nice discrimination, not 
to be acquired except by the education of cultivated 
society, is necessary to feel the finesses of the heart, if I 
dare use the expression, with which this work abounds. 
I do not hesitate to place the fourth part of it upon an 
equality with La Princesse de Clèves; nor to assert that 
had these two pieces been read nowhere but im the prov- 
inces, their full merit would never have been discovered. 
jt must not, therefore, be considered as a matter of as- 
tonishment that the greatest success of my work was at 
Court. It abounds with lively but veiled touches of the 
pencil, which could not but give pleasure there, because 
the persons who frequent it are more accustomed than 
others to discern them. A distinction must, however, be 
made. The work is by no means proper for the species of 
men of wit who have nothing but cunning, who possess 
no other kind of discernment than that which penetrates 

1 [ wrote this in 1769. — KR. 


C257] 


THE CONFESSTIONSHOER 


evil, and see nothing where good only is to be found. If, 
for instance, Julie had been published in a certam country 
that I call to mind, I am convinced that it would not have 
been read through by a smgle person, and the work would 
have been stifled in its birth. 

I have collected most of the letters written to me on the 
subject of this publication, and deposited them, tied up 
together, in the hands of Madame de Nadaïllac.! Should 
this collection ever be given to the world, a very singular 
thing will be seen, and an opposition of opinion which 
shows what it is to have to do with the public. The 
thmg least kept in view, and which will ever distinguish 
it from every other work, is the simplicity of the subject 
and the continuation of the interest, which, centred in 
three persons, is kept up throughout six volumes without 
episode, romantic adventure, or anything malicious either 
in the persons or actions. Diderot warmly complimented 
Richardson on the prodigious variety of his scenes and 
the multiplicity of his persons. Richardson has mdeed 
the merit of having well characterised them all; but with 
respect to therr number, he has that im common with the 
most insipid writers of novels, who attempt to make up 
for the sterility of their ideas by multiplying persons and 
adventures. Ît is easy to awaken the attention by inces- 
santly presenting unheard-of events and new faces, 
which pass by like the figures in a magic lantern; but 
to sustain that attention to the same objects, and with- 
out the aid of the wonderful, is certaimly more difficult; 
and if, everything else being equal, the simplicity of the 
subject add to the beauty of the work, the novels of 
Richardson, superior in so many other respects, cannot 
in this point be compared to mine. I know it is already 
dead, and the cause of its being so; but it will revive 
again. 

1 Abbess of Gomer-Fontaine, in the diocese of Rouen. 


C 258 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


AIT my fear was, that by an extreme simplicity the 
narrative would be fatiguing, and that it was not suff- 
ciently interesting to engage the attention to the end. 
Ï was relieved from this apprehension by a circumstance 
which alone was more flattering to me than all the com- 
pliments made me upon the work. 

It appeared at the beginnmg of the Carnival; a col- 
porteur carried it to Madame la Princesse de Talmont,! 
on the evening of a ball-night at the Opéra. After supper 
she dressed herself for the ball, and until the hour of 
going there took up the new novel. At midnight she 
ordered the horses to be put to the carriage, and con- 
tinued to read. The servant returned to tell her the 
horses were put to; she made no answer. Her people, 
perceiving she forgot herself, came to tell her it was two 
o’clock. “There is yet no hurry,’ replied she, still read- 
ing on. Some time afterwards, her watch having stopped, 
she rang to know the hour. She was told it was four 
o’clock. ‘That being the case, she said, ‘it is too late 
to go to the ball; let the horses be taken out.” She 
undressed herself and passed the rest of the night in 
reading. 

Ever since Ï came to the knowledge of this circum- 
stance, I have had a constant desire to see Madame de 
_ Talmont, not only to know from herself whether or not 
what I have related be exactly true, but because I have 
always thought it impossible to take so lively an mterest 
in the Héloïse, without having that sixth and moral 
sense with which so few hearts are endowed, and without 
which no person whatever can understand mine. 

What rendered the women so favourable to me was 
their being persuaded that I had written my own his- 
tory, and was myself the hero of the romance. This 


1 It was not she, but some other lady, whose name I do not know; 
but of the fact itself I have been well assured. — KR. 


C 259 ] 


THE CONFESSIONSHOR 


opinion was so firmly established, that Madame de 
Polignac wrote to Madame de Verdelin, begging that she 
would prevail upon me to show her the portrait of Julie. 
Everybody thought it was impossible so strongly to ex- 
press sentiments without having felt them, or thus to 
describe the transports of love, unless immediately from 
the feelings of one’s own heart. This was true, and I 
certainly wrote the novel during the time my imagina- 
tion was inflamed to ecstasy; but they who thought real 
objects necessary to this effect were deceived, and were 
far from conceiving to what a degree my mind can be 
excited for imaginary bemgs. Without Madame d'Houde- 
tot, and the recollection of a few circumstances in my 
youth, the amours [ have felt and described would have 
been with fairy nymphs. Î was unwilling either to con- 
frrm or destroy an error which was advantageous to me. 
The reader may see in the prefatory dialogue, which I 
had printed separately, im what manner I left the pub- 
lic in suspense. Rigorous people say I ought to have 
explicitly declared the truth. For my part I see nothing 
that could oblige me to it, and am of opinion that there 
would have been more folly than candour in the declara- 
tion made without necessity. 

. Much about the same time, La Paix Perpétuelle made 
its appearance. Of this I had the year before given the 
manuscript to a certain Monsieur de Bastide, the author 
of a journal called Le Monde, into which he would fain 
cram all my manuscripts. He was known to Monsieur 
Duclos, and came in his name to beg that [ would help 
him to fill the Monde. He had heard speak of Julie, and 
would have me put this mto his journal; he would have 
me put Émile there too; he would have also asked me for 
the Contrat Social, for the same purpose, had he suspected 
it to be written. At length, fatigued with his impor- 
tunities, Î resolved to let him have La Paix Perpétuelle, 


[ 260 | 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


which I gave him for twelve louis. Our agreement was, 
that he should print it im his journal; but as soon as he 
became the proprietor of the manuscript he thought 
proper to print it separately, with a few retrenchments 
which the censor exacted. What would have happened 
had I joined to the work my opinion of it, which for- 
tunately Î did not communicate to Monsieur de Bastide, 
nor was it comprehended in our agreement? This remains 
still im manuscript amongst my papers. If ever it be 
made public, the world will see how much the pleasantries 
and self-sufficient manner of Voltaire on the subject must 
have made me laugh — I, who was so well acquainted 
with the capacity of this poor man im political matters of 
which he took it imto his head to speak. 

In the midst of my success with the women and the 
public, I felt I was losing ground at the Hôtel de Luxem- 
bourg, not with Monsieur le Maréchal, whose goodness 
to me seemed daily to mcrease, but with Madame la 
Maréchale. Since I had had nothing more to read to her, 
the door of her apartment was not so frequent[y open to 
me, and during her stay at Montmorency, although I 
regularly presented myself, [| seldom saw her except at 
table. My place even there was not distinctly marked 
out by her side as usual. As she no longer offered it to 
me, and spoke to me but seldom, not having on my part 
much to say to her, I was as well satisfed with another, 
where Î was more at my ease, especially in the evening; 
for I mechanically contracted the habit of placing my- 
self nearer and nearer to Monsieur le Maréchal. 

FtIn reference to the evening, Î recollect having saïd 
that I did not sup at the château, and this was true, at 
the beginning of my acquaintance there; but as Mon- 
sieur de Luxembourg did not dine, nor even sit down to 
table, it happened that [ had passed several months, 


[ 261 ] 


THE :CONFESSIONSOE 


having eaten with him. This he had the goodness to 
remark, upon which [ determined to sup there from time 
to time, when the company was not numerous. [I did so, 
and found the suppers very agreeable, as the dinners were 
taken almost standing, whereas the former were long, 
everybody remaining seated with pleasure after a long 
walk; very good, because Monsieur de Luxembourg loved 
choice eating; and the honours of them were done 
in a charming manner by Madame [a Maréchale. With- 
out this explanation it would be difficult to understand 
the end of a letter from Monsieur de Luxembourg (C, 
No. 36), in which he says he recollects our walks with the 
greatest pleasure; “especially,” adds he, “when in the 
evening we entered the court and did not find there the 
traces of carriage-wheels.” The rake bemg every morn- 
ing drawn over the gravel to efface the marks left by the 
coach-wheels, I judged by the number of ruts how many 
persons had arrived im the afternoon. 

This year (1761) completed the heavy losses this good 
man had suffered since I had had the honour of being 
known to him; as if it had been ordained that the evils 
prepared for me by destiny should begin with the man to 
whom I was most attached, and who was the most 
worthy of esteem. The first year he lost his sister, Ma- 
dame [a Duchesse de Villeroy; the second, his daughter, 
Madame la Princesse de Robeck; the third, he lost in 
the Duc de Montmorency his only son, and in the Comte 
de Luxembourg his grandson, the two last supporters of 
the branch to which he belonged, and of his name. He 
bore all these losses with apparent courage, but his heart 
mcessant[y bled in secret durimg the rest of his life, and 
his health was ever after upon the decline. The unex- 
pected and tragical death of his son must have afflicted 
him the more, as it happened immediately after the 
King had granted him for this son, and given him in 


[ 262 | 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


promise for his grandson, the reversion of the commission 
he himself held as captam of the Gardes du Corps. He 
had the mortification to see the last, a most promising 
young man, perish by degrees, from the blind confidence 
of the mother in the physician, who, giving the un- 
happy youth medicines for food, suffered him to die of 
_ inanition. ÂAlas! had my advice been taken, the grand- 
father and the grandson would both still have been alive. 
What did not I say and write to Monsieur le Maréchal, 
what remonstrances did I not make to Madame de Mont- 
morency, upon the more than severe regimen which upon 
the faith of a physician she made her son observe? Ma- 
dame de Luxembourg, who thought as I did, would not 
usurp the authority of the mother; Monsieur de Luxem- 
bourg, a man of a mild and easy character, did not like 
to contradict her. Madame de Montmorency had in 
Bordeu a confidence to which her son at length became a 
victim. How delighted was the poor creature when he 
could obtain permission to come to Mont-Louis with 
Madame de Boufflers, to ask Thérèse for some victuals 
for his famished stomach! How did I secretly deplore 
the miseries of greatness in seemg this only heïr to an 
immense fortune, a great name, and so many titles and 
dignities, devour with the greediness of a beggar a 
wretched morsel of bread! At length, notwithstanding 
all I could say and do, the physician triumphed, and the 
child died of hunger. 

The same confidence in quacks which destroyed the 
grandson dug the grave of the grandfather, and to this 
he added the pusillanimity of wishing to dissimulate the 
_ infirmities of age. Monsieur de Luxembourg had at 
imtervals a pain in the great toe, which deprived him of 
sleep, and brought on slight fever; he was seized with it 
at Montmorency. I had courage enough to pronounce 
the word ‘gout’; Madame de Luxembourg gave me a 


C 263 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


reprimand. The surgeon — valet de chambre of the 
Maréchal — maintained it was not the gout, and dressed 
the suffering part with baume tranquille. Unfortunately, 
the pain subsided, and when it returned the same remedy 
was had recourse to. The constitution of the Maréchal 
was weakened, and his sufferings increased, as did his 
remedies in the same proportion. Madame de Luxem- 
bourg, who at length perceived the disorder to be the 
gout, objected to the dangerous manner of treating it. 
Thmgs were afterwards concealed from her, and Monsieur 
de Luxembourg in a few years lost his life im consequence 
of his obstinate adherence to what he imagimed to be a 
method of cure. But let me not anticipate distant mis- 
fortunes: how many others have I to relate before I 
come to this! 

It is singular with what fatality everything I could say 
and do seemed of a nature to displease Madame de 
Luxembourg, even when I had it most at heart to pre- 
serve her friendship. The repeated afflictions which fell 
upon Monsieur de Luxembourg only attached me to 
him the more, and consequently to Madame de Luxem- 
bourg; for they always seemed to me to be so simcerely 
united that the sentiments im favour of the one neces- 
sarily extended to the other. Monsieur le Maréchal 
grew old. His assiduity at court, the cares this brought 
on, contimual hunting, fatigue, and especrally that of the 
service during the quarter he was in waiting, required 
the vigour of a young man, and I did not perceive any- 
thing that could support his in that course of life: since, 
besides, after his death, his dignities would be dispersed 
and his name become extinct, it was by no means neces- 
sary for him to continue a laborious life, of which the 
principal object had been to dispose the Prince favour- 
ably to his children. One day, when we three were to- 
gether, and he complained of the fatigues of the court, as 


C 264 1 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


a man who had been discouraged by his losses, I took the 
liberty to speak of retirement, and to give him the advice 
Cineas gave to Pyrrhus. He sighed, and returned no 
positive answer. But the moment Madame de Luxem- 
bourg found me alone she reprimanded me severely for 
my counsel, at which she seemed to be alarmed. She 
made a remark of which I so strongly felt the justness 
that Î determined never again to touch upon the same 
chord: this was, that the long habit of living at court 
made that life necessary; that it was become even a 
matter of amusement for Monsieur de Luxembourg; 
and that the retirement I[ proposed to him would be less 
a relaxation from care than an exile, in which mactivity, 
weariness, and melancholy would soon put an end to his 
existence. Although she must have perceived that I was 
convinced, and ought to have relied upon the promise I 
made her, and which I faithfully kept, her mind never 
seemed easy on the subject; and I recollect that the con- 
versations Ï afterwards had with Monsieur le Maréchal 
were less frequent, and almost always interrupted. 
Whilst my stupidity and awkwardness imjured me im 
her opinion, persons whom she frequently saw and most 
loved were far from being disposed to aid me in regain- 
ing it. The Abbé de Boufflers especially, a young man 
as brilliant as it was possible for a man to be, never 
seemed well disposed towards me; and, besides his being 
the only person of the society of Madame la Maréchale 
who never showed me the least attention, I thought I 
perceived that Ï lost something with her every time he 
came to the château. It is true that, without his wishing 
this to be the case, his presence alone was sufficient to 
produce the effect, so much did his graceful and elegant 
manner render still more dull my stupid spropositi. Dur- 
ing the two first years he seldom came to Montmorency, 
and by the indulgence of Madame la Maréchale I had 


C 265 ] 


THE'LCONFESSIONSANE 


held my own pretty well; but as soon as his visits began 
to be regular I was irretrievably lost. I could have 
wished to take refuge under his wing, and gain his friend- 
ship; but the same awkwardness which made it neces- 
sary that I should please him prevented me from succeed- 
ing in the attempt, and what I did clumsily with that 
intention entirely lost me with Madame [a Maréchale, 
without being of the least service to me with the Abbé. 
With his understanding he might have succeeded in any- 
thing, but the impossibility of applying himself, and his 
turn for dissipation, prevented his acquiring a perfect 
knowledge of any subject. His talents are, however, 
various, and these sufficient for the circles in which he 
wishes to distinguish himself. He writes light poetry and 
fashionable letters, strums on the cithern, and pretends 
to draw with crayons. He took it into his head to at- 
tempt the portrait of Madame de Luxembourg — the 
sketch he produced was horrid. She saiïd it did not in 
the least resemble her, and this was true. The traitorous 
Abbé consulted me, and I, like a fool and a liar, said 
there was a likeness. I wished to flatter the Abbé, but I 
did not please Madame la Maréchale, who noted down 
what I had saïd, and the Abbé, having obtained what he 
wanted, laughed at me in his turn. I perceived by the 
ill success of this my late beginning the necessity of never 
making another attempt to flatter invita Minerva. 

My talent was that of tellmg men useful but severe 
truths with energy and courage; to this I ought to have 
confined myself. Not only was I not born to flatter, but 
I knew not how to commend. The awkwardness with 
which I have sought to bestow praise has done me more 
harm than the severity of my censures. Of this I have 
to adduce one terrible instance, the consequences of which 
have not only fixed my fate for the rest of my life, but will 
perhaps decide my reputation throughout all posterity. 

[ 266 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


During the residence of Monsieur de Luxembourg at 
Montmorency, Monsieur de Choïseul sometimes came to 
supper at the château. He arrived there one day after 
I had leftit. My name was mentioned, and Monsieur de 
Luxembourg related to him what had happened at Venice 
between me and Monsieur de Montaigu. Monsieur de 
Choiseul saïd it was a pity that I had quitted that track, 
and if I chose to enter it again he would most willingly 
give me employment. Monsieur de Luxembourg told me 
what had passed. Of this I was the more sensible as I 
was not accustomed to be sporied by ministers, and, had 
I been in a better state of health, it is not certain that I 
should not have been guilty of a new folly. Ambition 
never had power over my mind except during the short 
intervals in which every other passion left me at liberty; 
but one of these intervals would have been sufficient to 
determine me. This good intention of Monsieur de 
Choiseul gained him my attachment and mcreased the 
esteem which, in consequence of some operations in his 
administration, | had conceived for his talents; and the 
“family compact” in particular had seemed to me to evince 
a statesman of the first order. He moreover gained 
ground in my estimation by the little respect [ enter- 
tained for his predecessors, not even exceptinmg Madame 
de Pompadour, whom I considered as a species of prime 
minister; and when it was reported that one of these 
two would expel the other, I thought I offered up prayers 
for the honour of France when I desired that Monsieur 
de Choiseul might triumph. [ had always felt an antip- 
athy to Madame de Pompadour, even before her prefer- 
ment; I had seen her with Madame de La Poplinière, when 
her name was still Madame d’Etioles. TI was afterwards 
dissatisfied with her silence on the subject of Diderot, 
and with her proceedings relative to myself, as well on 
the subject of Les Fêtes de Ramire and Les Muses Galantes 


C 267 ] 


THE CONFESSTONSUOE 


as on that of Le Denin du Village, which had not in any 
manner produced me advantages proportioned to their 
success; and on all occasions I had found her but little 
disposed to serve me. This, however, did not prevent 
the Chevalier de Lorenzi from proposing to me to write 
something in praise of that lady, msmuating that [ might 
acquire some advantage by it. The proposition excited 
my indignation, the more as I perceived that it did not 
come from himself, knowing that, passive as he was, he 
thought and acted only according to the impulsion of 
others. I am so little accustomed to constraint that it 
was impossible for me to conceal from him my disdain, 
nor from anybody the moderate opinion I had of the 
favourite; this [| am sure she knew, and thus my own 
interest was added to my natural imclination in the wishes 
I formed for Monsieur de Choiseul. Having a great 
esteem for his talents, on which all my knowledge of him 
was grounded, full of gratitude for his kimd intentions, 
and moreover unacquainted in my retirement with his 
tastes and manner of living, [I already considered him as 
the avenger of the public and myself; and as [ was then 
giving the concludimg touches to Le Contrat Social, I 
stated therein, in a single passage, what I thought of pre- 
ceding ministers, and of him by whom they began to be 
eclipsed. On this occasion I acted contrary to my most 
constant maxim; and, besides, I did not recollect that, - 
in bestowing emphatic praise and blame in the same 
article, without naming the persons, the language must 
be so appropriated to those to whom it is applicable that 
the most sensitive self-love cannot find in it anything 
equivocal. Î was in this respect in such an imprudent 
security that Î never once thought it was possible that 
any one should make a false application. It will soon 
appear whether [I was right. 

One of my misfortunes was always to be connected 


[ 268 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


with some female author. This I thought Î might at 
least avoid amongst the great. I was deceived; it still 
pursued me. Madame de Luxembourg was not, how- 
ever — at least that [ know of — attacked with the 
mania of writing; but Madame la Comtesse de Boufflers 
was. She wrote a tragedy in prose, which, in the first 
place, was read, handed about, and highly spoken of im 
the society of Monsieur le Prince de Conti, and upon 
which, not satisfred with the encomiums she had received, 
she would absolutely consult me for the purpose of hav- 
ing mine. This she obtamed, but with that moderation 
which the work deserved. She, besides, had with it the 
information that Î thought it my duty to give her, that 
her piece, entitled L’Esclave Généreux, greatly resembled 
an English piece, little known, though translated, entitled 
Oroonoko. Madame de Boufflers thanked me for the 
remark, but, however, assured me there was not the least 
resemblance between her piece and the other. I never 
spoke of the plagiarism except to herself, and I did it to 
discharge a duty she had imposed on me; but this has 
not since prevented me from frequently recollectimg the 
consequences of the sincerity of Gil Blas to the preachimg 
archbishop. 

Besides the Abbé de Boufflers, by whom [I was not 
beloved, and Madame de Boufflers, in whose opinion I 
was guilty of wrongs which neither women nor authors 
ever pardon, the other friends of Madame la Maréchale 
never seemed much disposed to become mine, among 
others Monsieur le Président Hénault, who, enrolled 
amongst authors, was not exempt from their weaknesses; 
also Madame du Deffand and Mademoiselle de Les- 
pinasse, both warmly attached to Voltaire, and the imti- 
mate friends of D’Alembert, with whom the latter at 
length lived — however, upon an honourable footing, for 
it cannot be understood [I mean otherwise. I first began 


C 269 ] 


THE CONFESSTONSAOF 


to interest myself for Madame du Deffand, whom the 
loss of her eyes made an object of commiseration in mine, 
but her manner of living, so contrary to my own that her 
hour of going to bed was almost mine for rising, her un- 
bounded passion for triflmg wit, the importance she gave 
to every kind of printed trash, either complimentary or 
abusive, the despotism and transports of her oracles, her 
excessive admiration or dislike of everything, which did 
not permit her to speak upon any subject without con- 
vulsions, her inconceivable prejudices, invincible obsti- 
nacy, and the mad enthusiasm to which all this carried her 
in her passionate judgments, speedily disgusted me, and 
diminished the attention [ wished to pay her. I neg- 
lected her, and she perceived it; this was enough to set 
her in a rage; and, although I was sufficiently aware how 
much a woman of her character was to be feared, I pre- 
ferred exposing myself to the scourge of her hatred rather 
than to that of her friendship. : 

My having so few friends in the society of Madame 
de Luxembourg would not have been dangerous had I 
had no enemies in her family. Of these I had only one, 
but one who, by the situation im which I am at this hour, 
is equal to a hundred. It certainly was not Monsieur de 
Villeroy, her brother, for he not only came to see me, but 
had several times imvited me to Villeroy; and, as I had 
answered to the invitation with all possible politeness and 
respect, he had taken my vague reply as a consent, and 
arranged with Monsieur and Madame de Luxembourg a 
journey of a fortnight, in which it was proposed to me to 
make one of the party. As the cares my health then re- 
quired did not permit me to go from home without risk, 
I prayed Monsieur de Luxembourg to have the goodness 
to release me. His answer (D, No. 3) proves that this 
was done with all possible ease, and Monsieur le Duc de 
Villeroy still continued to show me his usual marks of 


L270] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


goodness. His nephew and heir, the young Marquis de 
Villeroy, had not for me the same benevolence, nor had I 
for him the respect Î had for his uncle. His hare-brained 
manner rendered him insupportable to me, and my cold- 
ness drew upon me his aversion. He insultingly attacked 
me one evening at table, and I had the worst of it, because 
I am a fool, without presence of mind, and because anger, 
instead of sharpenmg what little wit I have, deprives me 
of it altogether. I had a dog which had been given to 
me when he was quite young, soon after my arrival at the 
Hermitage, and which I had called Duke. This dog, not 
handsome, but rare of his kmd, of which I had made my 
companion and friend — a title that he certainly merited 
much more than most of the persons by whom it was taken 
— became celebrated at the Château de Montmorency 
for his good-nature and fondness, and the attachment 
we had to each other; but from a foolish pusillanimity 
Ï had changed his name to Turk, as if there were not 
numberless dogs called Marquis without any marquis 
whatsoever takmg offence. The Marquis de Villeroy, 
who knew of this change of name, attacked me about it 
in such a manner that I was obliged openly at table to 
relate what I had done. Whatever there might be offen- 
_sive in the name of Duke, it was not in my having given 
it, but im my having taken it away. The worst of all was, 
there were many dukes present — amongst others, Mon- 
sieur de Luxembourg and his son — and the Marquis de 
Villeroy, who was one day to have, and now has, the 
title, enjoyed im the most cruel manner the embarrass- 
ment into which he had thrown me and the effect it had 
produced. I was told the next day that his aunt had 
severely reprimanded him, and it may be judged whether, 
supposing her to have been serious, this put me upon 
better terms with him. 

To enable me to support this enmity I had no person, 


L271] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


either at the Hôtel de Luxembourg or at the. Temple, 
except the Chevalier de Lorenzi, who professed himself 
my friend, but he was more that of D’Alembert, under 
whose protection he passed with women for a great 
geometrician. He was, moreover, the sigisbé, or rather 
the complaisant creature, of Madame [a Comtesse de 
Boufflers, herself very friendly with D’Alembert; and the 
Chevalier de Lorenzi existed and thought only through 
her. Thus, far from having from without any counter- 
balance to my inability to keep myself in the good graces 
of Madame de Luxembourg, everybody who approached 
her seemed to concur in injuring me in her opinion. Yet, 
besides the Émile with which she charged herself, she 
gave me at the same time another mark of her interest 
and benevolence, which made me imagine that, even 
although weary of me, she would still preserve for me the 
friendship she had so many times promised me for life. 

As soon as I thought I could depend upon this I had 
begun to ease my heart by confessing to her all my faults, 
having made it an imviolable maxim to show myself to 
my friends such as I really was, neither better nor worse. 
J had declared to her my connection with Thérèse, and 
everything that had resulted from it, without conceal- 
ing the manner im which I had disposed of my children. 
She had received my confessions favourably, and even 
too much so, since she spared me the censures [ so much 
merited; and what made the greatest impression upon me 
was her goodness to Thérèse, making her little presents, 
sending for her, and begging her to come and see her, 
receiving her with caresses, and often embracing her in 
public. This poor girl was in transports of Joy and 
gratitude of which [ certainly partook. The friendship 
which Monsieur and Madame de Luxembourg showed 
me in their treatment of Thérèse affected me much more 
than that shown immediately to myself. 


C272] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


Things remained in this state for a considerable time, 
but at length Madame la Maréchale carried her goodness 
so far as to have a desire to take one of my children from 
the hospital. She knew I had caused a cipher to be put 
into the swaddling-clothes of the eldest. She asked me 
for the counterpart of the cipher, and I gave it her. In 
this research she employed La Roche, her valet de 
chambre and confidential servant, who made vain in- 
quiries and discovered nothing, though at the end of only 
twelve or fourteen years, had the registers of the Enfants- 
Trouvés been in order, or the search properly made, the 
original cipher ought to have been found. However this 
may be, I was less sorry for his want of success than I 
should have been had I continued to have knowledge of 
the child from its birth until that moment. If by the aïd 
of the indications given some child had been presented 
as my own, the doubt of its being so in fact, and the fear 
of having one thus substituted for another, would have 
contracted my affections, and I should not have tasted im 
all its charm of the real sentiment of nature. This, at 
least durimg infancy, stands in need of being supported 
by habit. The long absence of a child whom one has not 
really known weakens and at length annihilates paternal 
_ and maternal sentiment, and parents will never love a 
child sent to nurse like one which is brought up under 
their eyes. This reflection may extenuate my faults m 
their effects, but it must aggravate them in their source. 

It may not perhaps be useless to remark that by means 
of Thérèse this same La Roche became acquainted with 
Madame Le Vasseur, whom Grimm still kept at Deuil 
near La Chevrette, and not far from Montmorency. 
After my departure it was by means of Monsieur La 
Roche that Î continued to send this woman the money 
that I have constantly sent her at stated times, and I am 
of opinion that he often carried her presents from Ma- 


C 273] 


THE CONFESSTIONSUOER 


dame la Maréchale; therefore she certainly was not to 
be pitied, although she constantly complained. With 
respect to Grimm, as Î am not fond of speaking of per- 
sons whom I ought to hate, ÎÏ never mentioned his name 
to Madame de Luxembourg except when I could not 
avoid it, but she frequently made him the subject of 
conversation, without telling me what she thought of 
the man, or letting me discover whether or not he was of 
her acquaintance. Reserve with people I love, and who 
are open with me, being contrary to my nature, espe- 
cially in things relating to themselves, I have since that 
time frequently thought of that just referred to, but 
never except when other events rendered the recollec- 
tion natural. ; 

Havimg waited a long time without hearing of Emile, 
after I had given it to Madame de Luxembourg, I at last 
learned that the agreement was made at Paris with the 
bookseller Duchesne, and by him with Néaulme, of 
Amsterdam. Madame de Luxembourg sent me the origi- 
nal and the duplicate of my agreement with Duchesne, 
that Ï might sign them. I discovered the writing to be 
by the same hand as that of the letters of Monsieur de 
Malesherbes, which he himself did not write. The cer- 
tainty that my agreement was made by the consent and 
under the eye of that magistrate made me sign without 
hesitation. Duchesne gave me for this manuscript six 
thousand francs, half in specie, and, I think, one or two 
hundred copies. After having signed the two parts, I 
sent them both to Madame de Luxembourg, according 
to her desire. She gave one to Duchesne, and instead of 
returning the other kept it herself, so that [ never saw it 
afterwards. 

My acquamtance with Monsieur and Madame de 
Luxembourg, though it diverted me a little from my plan 
of retirement, did not make me renounce it. Even at 


C274] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


the time when I was most in favour with Madame la 
Maréchale, I always felt that nothing but my sincere 
attachment to Monsieur le Maréchal and herself could 
render supportable to me the people by whom they were 
surrounded; and all the difficulty I had was im conciliat- 
ing this attachment with a manner of life more agreeable 
to my inclination and less contrary to my health, which 
constraint and late suppers continually deranged, not- 
withstanding all the care taken to prevent it, for in this, 
as m everything else, attention was carried as far as pos- 
sible. Thus, for imstance, every evening after supper the 
Maréchal, who went early to bed, never failed, notwith- 
standing everything that could be said to the contrary, 
to make me withdraw at the same time. | It was not until 
some little time before my catastrophe that, for what 
reason [ know not, he ceased to pay me that attention. 

Even before [I perceived the coolness of Madame de 
_ Luxembourg I was desirous, that [| might not expose my- 
self to it, to execute my old project; but not having the 
means to that effect, I was obliged to wait for the con- 
clusion of my agreement for Emile, and in the interval I 
fmished the Contrat Social, and sent it to Rey, fixing 
the price of the manuscript at a thousand francs, which 
he paid me. I ought not perhaps to omit a trifling cir- 
cumstance relative to this manuscript. [I gave it, well 
sealed up, to Duvoisin, a minister Im the Pays de Vaud, 
and chaplain at the Hôtel de Hollande, who sometimes 
came to see me, and took upon himself to send the packet 
to Rey, with whom he was im communication. The 
manuscript, written in a fine hand, was very small im 
size, and did not fill his pocket. Yet, in passing the bar- 
rière, the packet fell — I know not by what means — 
into the hands of the officers, who opened and examined 
it, and afterwards returned it to him, when he had re- 
claimed it in the name of the Ambassador. This gave 


Farc 


THE CONFESSIONSNOPr 


him an opportunity of reading it himself, which he in- 
genuously wrote me he had done, speaking highly of 
the work, without a word of criticism or censure, un- 
doubtedly reserving to himself to become the avenger of 
Christendom as soon as the work should appear. He re- 
sealed the packet, and sent it to Rey. Such is the sub- 
stance of his narrative in the letter im which he gave an 
account of the.affair, and 1s all I ever knew of the matter. 

Besides these two books and my Dictionnaire de Mu- 
sique, at which I still did something as opportunity 
offered, I had other works of less importance ready to 
make their appearance, and which [ proposed to pub- 
lish either separately or in my general collection, should 
I ever undertake it. The most important of these works, 
most of which are still in manuscript in the hands of Du 
Peyrou, was an Essai sur l’Origine des Langues, which I 
had read to Monsieur de Malesherbes and the Chevalier 
de Lorenzi, who spoke favourably of it. [ expected that 
all these productions together would produce me a net 
capital of from eight to ten thousand francs, which I 
mtended to sink im annuities for my life and that of 
Thérèse, after which our design, as Ï have already men- 
tioned, was to go and live together in the midst of some 
province, without further troubling the public about me, 
or myself with any other project than that of peacefully 
endmg my days, and still contmuimg to do in my neïgh 
bourhood all the good in my power, and to write at leï- 
sure the memoirs which I meditated. 

Such was my intention, and the execution of it was 
facilitated by an act of generosity on the part of Rey, 
upon which I cannot be silent. This bookseller, of whom 
so many unfavourable things were told me in Paris, 1s, 
notwithstanding, the only one with whom I have always 
had reason to be satisfied.! It 1s true we frequently dis- 

1 When writing this, I was yet far from the imagination, the conception, 


CL 276 ] 


JPANSTACQUES ROUSSEAU 


agreed as to the execution of my works; he was heed- 
less and I was choleric; but in matters of mterest which 
related to them, although I never made with him an 
agreement im form, [ always found im him great exact- 
ness and probity. He is also the only person of his pro- 
fession who frankly confessed to me that he gained largely 
by my means, and he frequently, when he offered me a 
part of his fortune, told me I was the author of it all. 
Not finding the means of showing his gratitude immedi- 
ately to myself, he wished at least to give me proofs of it 
in the person of my gouvernante, upon whom he settled 
an annuity of three hundred francs, expressing in the 
deed that it was an acknowledgment for the advantages 
I had procured him. This he did between himself and me, 
without ostentation, pretension, or noise; and had not 
I spoken of it to everybody, not a single person would 
ever have known anythmg of it. I was so pleased with 
this action that [I have since become attached to Rey, 
and conceived for him a real friendship. Some time 
afterwards he desired that I would become godfather to 
one of his children. [I consented, and a part of my regret 
in the situation to which I am reduced is my being de- 
prived of the means of renderimg im future my attach- 
ment to my goddaughter useful to her and her parents. 
Why am I, so sensible of the modest generosity of this 
bookseller, so little sensible of the noisy eagerness of many 
persons of high rank, who pompously fill the world with 
accounts of the services they say they wished to render 
me, but the good effects of which I never felt? Is it 
their fault or mine? Are not they merely vain? Am 
not I merely ungrateful? Intelligent reader, weigh and 
determine; for my part, Î say no more. 

This pension was a great resource to Thérèse, and a con- 


and the belief of the frauds that I have discovered in the printed copies 
of my writings — frauds that he has been forced to confess. — KR. 


C 277] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF) 


siderable alleviation to me, although I was far from receiv- 
ing from it a direct advantage, any more than from all 
the presents that were made her. She herself has always 
disposed of everything. When I kept her money I gave 
her a faithful account of it, without ever applying a lard 
to our common expenses, not even when she was richer 
than myself. ‘What is mine is ours,’ saïd I to her, ‘and 
what is thine is thine.” [I never departed from this maxim, 
which I often repeated to her. They who have had the 
baseness to accuse me of receiving through her hands 
that which I refused to take with mine, undoubtedly 
judged of my heart by their own, and knew but little of 
me. J would willingly eat with her the bread she should 
have earned, but never that she should have had given 
her. For a proof of this I appeal to herself, both now and 
hereafter, when, according to the course of nature, she 
shall have survived me. Unfortunately, she understands 
but little of economy in any respect, and is besides care- 
less and extravagant, not from vanity nor gluttony, but 
solely from negligence. No creature is perfect here 
below, and since her excellent qualities must be balanced 
with some defects, [ prefer these to vices, although her 
defects are perhaps more prejudicial to us both. The 
efforts Ï have made, as formerly I did for Mamma, to 
accumulate something im advance which might some day 
be to her a never-failing resource, are not to be conceived, 
but my cares were always ineffectual. Neither of these 
women ever called herself to an account, and, notwith- 
standing all my efforts, everything Î acquired was dis- 
sipated as fast as it came. Notwithstanding the great 
simplicity of Thérèse’s dress, the pension from Rey has 
never been sufficient to buy her clothes, and I have every 
year had to supplement it for that purpose. We are 
neither of us born to be rich, and this I certainly do not 
reckon amongst our misfortunes. 


L 278 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


Le Contrat Social was soon printed. This was not the 
case with Émile, for the publication of which I waited to 
go into the retirement I meditated. Duchesne, from time 
to time, sent me specimens of type and paper to choose 
from; when I had made my choice, instead of beginning 
to print he sent me others. When at length we were fully 
determined on the size and letter, and several sheets were 
already printed off, on my making some triflimg altera- 
tion in a proof he began the whole again, and at the end 
of six months we were less forward than on the first day. 
During all these experiments, I clearly perceived the work 
was being printed in France as well as m Holland, and 
that two editions of it were preparing at the same time. 
What could I do? The manuscript was no longer mine. 
Far from having had anything to do with the edition m 
France, I was always against it; but since at length this 
was preparing in spite of all opposition, and was to serve 
as a model to the other, it was necessary that I should 
cast my eyes over it, and examine the proofs, that my 
work might not be mutilated and disfigured. It was, 
besides, printed so much by the consent of the magis- 
trate, that it was he who, in some measure, directed the 
undertakimg; he likewise wrote to me frequently, and once 
came to see me and converse on the subject upon an occa- 
sion of which I am going to speak. 

Whilst Duchesne crept like a tortoise, Néaulme, whom 
he withheld, scarcely moved at all. The sheets were not 
regularly sent him as they were printed. He thought 
there was some dishonesty in the manœuvre of Duchesne 
— that is, of Guy, who acted for him, — and, perceiving 
the terms of the agreement to be departed from, he wrote 
me letter after letter full of complaints, and it was less 
possible for me to find a remedy for them than for those 
I myself had to make. His friend Guérin, who at that 
time came frequently to see me, never ceased speaking to 


C 279 J: 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


me about the work, but always with great reserve. He 
knew and he did not know that it was being printed in 
France, and that the magistrate had a hand im it. In 
expressing his concern for the embarrassment the book 
was likely to occasion me, he seemed to accuse me of 
imprudence without ever saying in what this consisted: 
he incessantly equivocated, and seemed to speak for no 
other purpose than to hear what I had to say. I thought 
myself so secure that I laughed at his mystery and cir- 
cumspection as at a habit he had contracted with minis- 
ters and magistrates, whose offices he much frequented. 
Certain of having conformed to every rule with the work, 
and strongly persuaded that I had not only the consent 
and protection of the magistrate, but that the book 
merited, and had obtained, the favour of the ministry, 
Ï congratulated myself upon my courage in doing good, 
and laughed at my pusillanimous friends who seemed 
uneasy on my account. Duclos was one of these, and I 
confess my confidence in his understanding and upright- 
ness might have alarmed me by his example, had I had 
less confidence in the utility of the work, and in the 
probity of its patrons. He came from the house of Mon- 
sieur Baille to see me whilst Émile was in the press; he 
spoke to me concerning it; Î read to him the Profession of 
Faith of the Savoyard Vicar, to which he listened attentive- 
[y and, as it seemed to me, with pleasure. When I had 
finished, he said, ‘What, citizen! this is a part of a work 
now printing at Paris?’ ‘Yes, answered I, ‘and it ought 
to be printed at the Louvre by order of the King” ‘I 
confess it, replied he; “but pray do not mention to anybody 
your having read to me this fragment.” This strikmg 
manner of expressing himself surprised without alarming 
me. [I knew Duclos was intimate with Monsieur de Males- 
herbes, and I could not conceive how it was possible he 
should think so differently from him upon thesame subject. 


[ 280 | 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


I had lived at Montmorency for more than four years 
without ever having had there one day of good health. 
Although the air is excellent, the water is bad, and this 
may possibly be one of the causes which contributed to 
increase my habitual complaints. Towards the end of 
the autumn of 1761 I fell quite 1ll, and passed the whole 
winter in suffering almost without intermission. The 
physical 1ll, augmented by a thousand mquietudes, ren- 
dered these, too, more acute. For some time past my 
mind had been disturbed by melancholy forebodings, 
without my knowimg to what these directly tended. I 
received anonymous letters of an extraordinary nature, 
and others, that were signed, much of the same import. 
Î received one from a counsellor of the Parliament of 
Paris, who, dissatisfied with the present constitution of 
thmgs, and foreseemg nothing but disagreeable events, 
consulted me upon the choice of an asylum at Geneva, 
or in Switzerland, to retire to with his family. Another 
was brought me from Monsieur de , Président à 
mortier of the Parliament of , who proposed to me 
to draw up for this Parliament, which was then at vari- 
ance with the Court, memoirs and remonstrances, and 
offermg to furnish me with all the documents and ma- 
terials necessary to that purpose. When I suffer I am 
subject to ill-humour. This was the case when I received 
these letters, and I displayed 1ll-humour in my answers 
to them, flatly refusmg everythimg that was asked of me. 
[ do not, however, reproach myself with this refusal, as 
the letters might be so many snares laid by my enemies, ! 
and what was required of me was contrary to the prin- 
ciples from which I was less willmg than ever to swerve. 
But having it in my power to refuse with politeness, I 
did it with rudeness, and in this consists my error. 








1 I knew, for instance, the Président de ——— to be connected with the 
Encyclopædists and the Holbachians. — K, 


H28ri) 


THE CONFESSIONSLOF 


The two letters of which I have just spoken will be 
found amongst my papers. The letter from the coun- 
sellor did not absolutely surprise me, because I agreed 
with him in opinion, and with many others, that the 
declining constitution of France threatened an approach- 
mg downfall. The disasters of an unsuccessful war, all 
of which proceeded from a fault im the government; 
the imcredible confusion in the finances; the perpetual 
agitations and perplexities rife in the Administration, 
which was then divided between two or three ministers, 
amongst whom reigned nothing but discord, and who, 
for the sake of injuring each other, let the kinmgdom go 
to ruin; the discontent of the people, and of every other 
rank of subjects; the obstinacy of a woman who, con- 
stantly sacrificing her judgment, if she indeed possessed 
any, to her inclinations, kept from public employments 
the most capable persons to make room for such as 
pleased her best; everything concurred in justifymg the 
foresight of the counsellor, that of the public, and my 
own. This made me several times consider whether or 
not I myself should seek an asylum out of the kmgdom 
before it was torn by the dissensions by which it seemed 
to be threatened; but, relieved from my fears by my 
insignificance, and the peacefulness of my disposition, I 
thought that in the state of solitude im which I was de- 
termined to live no public commotion could reach me. 
I was sorry only that, in this state of things, Monsieur 
de Luxembourg should accept commissions which tended 
to turn public opinion against him in his government. 
I could have wished he had prepared himself a retreat, 
in case the great machine had fallen in pieces, which 
at the time seemed much to be apprehended; and it 
still appears to me beyond a doubt that if the reins 
of the government had not at last fallen into a single 

1 The Seven Years War. 11 RAS 


[ 282 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


hand, ! the French monarchy would now be at the last 
gasp. | 
Whuilst my situation became worse, the printing of 
Émile went on more slowly, and was at length suspended 
without my being able to learn the reason why; Guy did 
not deign to answer my letter of inquiry, and I could 
obtain no imformation from any person of what was going 
forward, Monsieur de Malesherbes being then im the 
country. No misfortune ever gives me real trouble, pro- 
vided I know im what it consists; but it is my nature to 
be afraïd of darkness; I hate and tremble at the appear- 
ance of it; mystery always gives me imnquietude — it is 
too opposite to my natural disposition, in which there 1s 
an openness bordering on imprudence. The sight of the 
most hideous monster would, [ am of opinion, alarm me 
but little; but if by night [I were to see a figure in a white 
sheet, I should be afraïd of it. My imagination, wrought 
upon by this long silence, was now employed in creating 
phantoms. I tormented myself the more in endeavour- 
mg to discover the impediment to the printing of my last 
and best production, as I had the publication of it much 
at heart; and as I always carried everything to an ex- 
treme, Î imagined that I perceived im the suspension the 


. suppression of the work. Yet, being unable to discover 


either the cause or manner of it, Î| remained in the most 
cruel state of suspense. [I wrote letter after letter to Guy, 
to Monsieur de Malesherbes, and to Madame de Luxem- 
bourg, and not receiving answers, at least when [ ex- 
pected them, my head became so affected that I was not 
far from delirium. At the same time I unfortunately 
heard that Père Griffet, a Jesuit, had spoken of Emike, 
and repeated from it some passages. My imagination 
instantly unveiled to me the whole mystery of imiquity; 
I saw the whole progress of it as clearly as if it had been 
1 The Duc de Choiseul. 


C 283 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


revealed to me. I figured to myself that the Jesuits, 
furious on account of the contemptuous manner in which 
I had spoken of their colleges, were in possession of my 
work; that it was they who hindered the publication; 
that, informed by their friend Guérin of my situation, 
and foreseeing my approachmg dissolution, of which I 
myself had no manner of doubt, they wished to delay the 
appearance of the work until after that event, with an 
intention to mutilate and alter it, and in favour of their 
own views to attribute to me sentiments not my own. 
The number of facts and circumstances which occurred 
to my mind in confrrmation of this silly supposition, and 
even gave it an appearance of truth supported by evi- 
dence and demonstration, is astonishing. Î knew Guérin 
to be entirely in the interest of the Jesuits. [ attributed 
to them all the friendly advances he had made me; Ï was 
persuaded that he had, by their entreaties, pressed me to 
engage with Néaulme; that the said Néaulme had given 
them the first sheets of my work; that they had after- 
wards found means to stop the printing of it by Duchesne, 
and perhaps to get possession of the manuscript in order 
to work upon it at their leisure, till my death should 
leave them free to publish it disguised in their own man- 
ner. [ had always perceived, notwithstandmg the 
wheedling of Père Berthier, that the Jesuits did not like 
me, not only as an Encyclopædist, but because all my 
principles were more in opposition to their maxims and 
mfluence than the incredulity of my colleagues, since 
atheistical and devout fanaticism, approaching each 
other by their common enmity to toleration, may be- 
come united, as they are im China, and as they are against 
myself; whereas religion, both reasonable and moral, tak- 
img away all human power over the conscience, deprives 
those who assume that power of every resource. I knew 
too that Monsieur le Chancelier was a great friend to 


C 284 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


the Jesuits, and I had my fears lest the son, intimidated 
by the father, should find himself under the necessity of 
abandoning to them the work he had protected. I even 
imagined that Î perceived this to be the case in the 
chicanery employed against me relative to the two 
first volumes, in which alterations were required for 
frivolous reasons; whilst the two other volumes were 
known to contain thmgs of such a nature that, had the 
censor objected to them as he did to passages in the 
others, it would have required their being entirely writ- 
ten over again. Î also understood, and Monsieur de 
Malesherbes himself told me of it, that the Abbé de Grave, 
whom he had charged with the inspection of this edition, 
was another partisan of the Jesuits. I saw nothing but 
Jesuits, without considering that, upon the eve of bemg 
suppressed, and wholly taken up in making their own 
defence, they had something which interested them 
much more than the cavillmgs relative to a work in 
which they were not in question. Ï[ am wrong, however, 
in saying this did not occur to me; for I really thought of 
it, and Monsieur de Malesherbes took care to make the 
observation to me the moment he heard of my extrava- 
gant suspicions. But, by another of those absurdities 
_of a man who, from the bosom of obscurity, will abso- 
lutely judge of the secret of great affairs, with which he 
is totally unacquainted, [I never could bring myself to 
believe that the Jesuits were in danger, and I considered 
the rumour to that effect as an artful manœuvre of their 
own to deceive their adversaries. Their past successes, 
which had been uninterrupted, gave me so terrible an 
idea of their power, that I already grieved at the degrada- 
tion of the Parliament. I knew that Monsieur de Choi- 
seul had prosecuted his studies under the Jesuits, that 
Madame de Pompadour was not upon bad terms with 
them, and that their league with favourites and minis- 


C 285 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


ters had constantly appeared advantageous to both 
against their common enemies. The court seemed to 
remain neuter, and, persuaded as Î was that should the 
society some day receive a severe check it could not come 
from the Parliament, I saw in the inaction of Govern- 
ment the ground of their confidence and the omen of 
their triumph. In fine, percerving in the rumours of the 
day nothing more than dissimulation and snares on their 
part, and thinking that they, m their state of security, 
had time to watch over all their interests, I had not the 
least doubt of their shortly crushing Jansenism, the 
Parliament, and the Encyclopædists, with every other 
association which had not submitted to their yoke; and 
that, if they ever suffered my work to appear, this would 
not happen until it should be so transformed as to favour 
their pretensions, and thus make use of my name the 
better to deceive my readers. 

I felt myself passmg away, and such was the horror 
with which my mind was filled at the idea of dishonour to 
my memory in the work most worthy of myself, that I 
am surprised so many extravagant ideas did not occa- 
sion a speedy end to my existence. Î never was so much 
afraid of death as at that time, and surely, had I died 
with the apprehensions [ then had upon my mind, I 
should have died in despair. At present, when [I per- 
ceive no obstacle to the execution of the blackest and 
most dreadful conspiracy ever formed against the mem- 
ory of a man, [I shall die much more peacefully, certam 
of leaving im my writmgs a testimony in my favour, and 
one which, sooner or later, will triumph over the calum- 
nies of men. 


C1762.1] Monsieur de Malesherbes, who discovered 
the agitation of my mind, and to whom [ acknowledged 
it, used such endeavours to restore me to tranquillity as 


[ 286 | 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


proved his unfailing goodness of heart. Madame de 
Luxembourg aided him in this good work, and several 
times went to Duchesne to know in what state the edi- 
tion was. At length the impression was again begun, 
and the progress of it became more rapid without my 
ever knowing for what reason it had been suspended. 
Monsieur de Malesherbes took the trouble to come to 
Montmorency to calm my mind; in this he succeeded, 
and the full confidence I had in his uprightness having 
overcome the derangement of my poor head, gave ef- 
cacy to the endeavours he made to restore me. After 
what he had seen of my anguish and delrium, it was 
natural that he should think I[ was to be pitied, and he 
acted accordingly. The expressions, incessantly repeated, 
of the philosophical cabal by which he was surrounded 
occurred to his memory. When I went to live at the 
Hermitage, they, as [ have already remarked, exclaimed 
that I should not remain there long. When they saw 
that [ persevered, they charged me with obstinacy and 
pride, proceeding from a want of courage to retract, and 
insisted that my life there was a burden to me — in short, 
that [| was very wretched. Monsieur de Malesherbes 
believed this really to be the case, and wrote to me upon 
the subject. This error in a man for whom I had so much 
esteem gave me some pain, and Î wrote to him four let- 
ters successively, im which I stated the real motives of 
my conduct, and made him fully acquainted with my 
tastes, inclination, and character, and with the true senti- 
ments of my heart. These four letters, written hastily, 
almost without taking pen from paper, and which I 
neither copied, corrected, nor even read, are perhaps the 
only things I ever wrote with facility, which in the midst 
of my sufferings and extreme depression was, I think, 
astonishing. I sighed, as I felt myself declining, at the 
thought of leaving in the minds of honest men an opinion 


[ 287 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


of me so far from true: and, by the sketch hastily given 
in my four letters, Î endeavoured, in some measure, to 
substitute them for the memoirs that I had proposed to 
write. These letters, which pleased Monsieur de Males- 
herbes, and which he showed to many persons in Paris, 
are, besides, a kind of summary of what I here give in 
greater detail, and, on this account, merit preservation. 
The copy I begged of them some years afterwards will 
be found amongst my papers. 

The only thing which continued to give me pain in 
the idea of my approaching dissolution was my not hav- 
ing any man of letters for a friend, to whom I could con- 
fide my papers, that after my death he might sort them 
with judgment. After my Journey to Geneva [I conceived 
a friendship for Moultou; this young man pleased me, 
and I could have wished him to close my dyimg eyes. 
I expressed to him this desire, and am of opinion that he 
would readily have complied with it had not his family 
and business prevented him from so doing. Deprived 
of this consolation, [ still wished to give him a mark of 
my confidence by sending him the Profession of Faith of 
the Savoyard Vicar before it was published. He was 
pleased with the work, but did not in his answer seem so 
fully to expect from it the effect of which I had but little 
doubt. He wished to receive from me some fragment 
which I had not given to anybody else. I sent him the 
funeral oration on the late Duke of Orleans. This I had 
written for the Abbé d’Arty, who had not pronounced it, 
because, contrary to his expectation, another person was 
appointed for that occasion. 

The printing, after having been again taken in hand, 
was continued and completed without much difiiculty; 
and Î remarked this singularity, that after the correc- 
tion so much insisted upon in the first two volumes, the 
two last were passed over without an objection, and 


[ 288] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


their contents did not delay the publication for a moment. 
I had still, however, some uneasimess which I must not 
pass over In silence. After having been afraïd of the 
Jesuits, I began to fear the Jansenists and philosophers. 
An enemy to all that is known as party, faction, and 
cabal, I never heard the least good of persons concerned 
in them. The commères had quitted their old abode, and 
taken up their residence close by me, so that in their 
chamber everything said in mine and upon the terrace 
was distinctly heard, and from their garden it would have 
been easy to scale the low wall by which it was separated 
from my donjon. [I had made this donjon my study, so 
that my table was covered with proofs and sheets of 
Émile and Le Contrat Social, and, stitching these sheets 
as they were sent to me, I had all my volumes a long time 
before they were published. My negligence, and the 
confidence I had in Monsieur Mathas, in whose garden 
I was shut up, frequently made me forget to lock the 
door at night, and im the morning I several times found 
it wide open. This, however, would not have given me 
the least imquietude had not my papers seemed to have 
been deranged. After having several times made the 
same remark, I became more careful, and locked the 
door. The lock was a bad one, and the key turned in it 
no more than half round. As I became more attentive I 
found my papers im a still greater confusion than they 
were when I left everything open. At length I[ missed 
one of my volumes for a day and two nights, without being 
able to tell what had become of it, until the morning of 
the third day, when I again found it upon the table. I 
never suspected either Monsieur Mathas or his nephew, 
Monsieur Dumoulin, knowimg myself to be beloved by 
both, and my confidence in them was unbounded. That 
which I had in the commères began to diminish. Although 
they were Jansenists, I knew them to have some connec- 


C 289 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


tion with D’Alembert, and, moreover, they all three 
lodged in the same house. This gave me some uneasiness, 
and put me more upon my guard. Î removed my papers 
to my chamber, and dropped my acquaintance with these 
people, having learned besides that they had shown in 
several houses the first volume of Émile, which I had 
been imprudent enough to lend to them. Although they 
continued until my departure to be my neïghbours, I 
had no further communication with them. 

Le Contrat Social appeared a month or two before 
Émile. Rey, whom I had desired never secretly to intro- 
duce into France any of my books, applied to the magis- 
trate for leave to send this book by Rouen, to which place 
he sent his package by sea. He received no answer, and 
his bales, after remaining at Rouen several months, were 
returned to him, but not until an attempt had been 
made to confiscate them. This probably would have 
been done had he not made a great clamour. Several 
persons, whose curiosity the work had excited, sent to 
Amsterdam for copies, which were circulated without 
bemg much noticed. Mauléon, who had heard of this, 
and had, I believe, seen the work, spoke to me on the 
subject with an air of mystery which surprised me, and 
would likewise have made me uneasy if, certain of 
having conformed to every rule, and having no cause to 
reproach myself, I had not by virtue of my grand maxim 
kept my mind calm. Î moreover had no doubt that 
Monsieur de Choiseul, already well disposed towards me, 
and sensible of the eulogrum which my esteem for him 
had induced me to make in the work, would support 
me im this affair against the malevolence of Madame 
de Pompadour. 

I certainly had then as much reason as ever to count 
upon the goodness of Monsieur de Luxembourg, and 
even upon his assistance Im case of need, for he never at 


C 290 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


any time had given me more frequent or more pointed 
marks of his friendship. At his Easter visit, my melan- 
choly state no longer permitting me to go to the château, 
he never suffered a day to pass without coming to see 
me, and at length, perceiving my sufferings to be inces- 
sant, he prevailed upon me to determine to see Frère 
Côme. He immediately sent for him, came with him, 
and had the courage, uncommon in a man of his rank, 
to remain with me during the operation, which was cruel 
and tedious. Morand had several times attempted it 
unsuccessfully; but Côme, whose skilful hand and light- 
ness of touch were unequalled, after more than two 
hours — during which my sufferimgs were great, though 
[ would not give expression to them, lest I should 
grieve the good Maréchals tender heart — achieved his 
object. Upon the first examination Côme thought that 
he had found a great stone, and told me so; at the second 
he could not find it agam. After having made two fresh 
attempts with so much care and circumspection that I 
thought the time long, he declared there was no stone, 
but that the prostate gland was scirrhous and consid- 
erably thickened. He found the bladder large and im 
good condition, and said that I had yet a great deal to 
_suffer, and should live a long time. Should the second 
prediction be as fully accomplished as the first, my 
suffermgs are far from bemg at an end. 

It was thus that I learned, after having been so many 
years treated for disorders which Î never had, that my 
disease, incurable without being mortal, would last as 
long as myself. My imagination, repressed by this in- 
formation, no longer presented to me in perspective a 
cruel death in the agonies of the stone. Delivered from 
imaginary evils more cruel to me than those which were 
real, Ï more patiently suffered the latter. It is certain 
that I have suffered less from my disorder than I had 


L 291 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


done before, and every time I recollect that I owe this 
alleviation to Monsieur de Luxembourg his memory 
becomes more dear to me. 

Restored, as Î may say, to life, and more than ever 
occupied with the plan according to which I was deter- 
mined to pass the rest of my days, I only postponed its 
execution till the publication of Emile. I thought of 
Touraine, where I had already been, and which pleased 
me much, as well on account of the mildness of the cli- 
mate as on that of the character of the mhabitants: 


ÿ La terra molle e lieta e dilettosa 
Simili a se gli abitator produce.” ! 


I had already spoken of my project to Monsieur de 
Luxembourg, who endeavoured to dissuade me from it. 
Ï mentioned it to him a second time as a thing resolved 
upon. He then offered me the Château de Merlou, fif- 
teen leagues from Paris, as an asylum which might be 
agreeable to me, and where both would have a real 
pleasure in seemg me settled. Their kmdness touched 
me, and the proposition was not displeasing. But the 
frrst thing necessary was to see the place, and we agreed 
upon a day when Monsieur le Maréchal was to send his 
valet de chambre with a carriage to take me to it. On 
the day appointed I was much mdisposed; the journey 
was necessarily postponed, and adverse circumstances 
prevented me from ever making it. TI have since learned 
that the estate of Merlou did not belong to the Maré- 
chal, but to his lady, on which account Ï was the less 
sorry that I had not gone to live there. 

Émile was at length given to the public without my 
having heard further of retrenchments or difhculties. 


1 ‘The land did like itself the people breed; 
The soil is gentle, smooth, soft, delicate.” 
Fairfax’s “ Tasso,’ i. 62. 


C 292 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


Previous to the publication the Maréchal asked me for 
all the letters Monsieur de Malesherbes had written to 
me on the subject of the work. My great confidence 
in both, and the perfect security in which I felt myself, 
prevented me from reflecting upon the extraordinary, 
and even alarming, nature of this request. Î returned 
all the letters except one or two which, from inattention, 
had been left between the leaves of a book. A little time 
before this Monsieur de Malesherbes told me he should 
withdraw the letters I had written to Duchesne during 
my alarm relative to the Jesuits, and it must be confessed 
that these letters did no great honour to my reason. But 
in my answer I assured him Î would not in anything pass 
for being better than I was, and that he might leave the 
letters where they were. I know not what he did. 

The publication of this work was not succeeded by the 
applause which had followed that of all my other writ- 
ings. Never did a work obtain so much private praise; 
never did any obtain so little public approbation. What 
was said and written to me upon the subject by persons 
most capable of judgmg confrrmed me in my opinion 
that it was the best as well as the most important of all 
the works [ had produced. But everything favourable 
was said with an air of the strangest mystery, as if there 
had been a necessity for keeping this good opinion a 
secret. Madame de Boufflers, who wrote to me that the 
author of the work merited a statue and the homage of 
mankind, at the end of her letter desired it might be re- 
turned to her. D’Alembert, who in his note said that the 
work was decisive of superiority, and ought to place me 
at the head of all men of letters, did not sign what he 
wrote, although he had signed every note that I had 
before received from him. Duclos, a sure friend, a man 
of veracity, but circumspect, although he had a good 
opinion of the work, avoided mentioning it im his letters 


C 293 | 


THE CONFESSIONS" OF 


to me. La Condamine fell upon the Profession of Faith 
and wandered from the subject. (Clairaut confined 
himself to the same part, but he was not afraid of ex- 
pressing to me the emotion which the reading of it had 
caused in him, and in the most direct terms wrote to me 
that it had warmed his old imagination. Of all those 
to whom I sent my book he was the only person who 
proclaimed openly and frankly in society his favourable 
opinion of it. 

Mathas, to whom also I had given a copy before the 
publication, lent it to Monsieur de Blaire, counsellor im 
the Parliament and father of the Intendant at Stras- 
bourg. Monsieur de Blaire had a country-house at Saint- 
Gratien, and Mathas, his old acquaintance, sometimes 
went to see him there when he was able. He made him 
read Emile before it was published. When he returned 
it to him, Monsieur de Blaire expressed himself in these 
very terms, which were repeated to me the same day: 
“Monsieur Mathas, this is a very fine work, but of which 
more will be spoken ere long than might be wished for 
the author’s sake.” I laughed at the prediction, and 
saw in it nothing more than the importance of a lawyer, 
who treats everything with an air of mystery. All the 
disquieting observations repeated to me made no impres- 
sion upon my mind, and, far from foreseeing the coming 
catastrophe, certain of the utility and excellence of my 
work, and that [I had im every respect conformed to 
established rules; convinced, as I thought [ was, that 
I should be supported by all the credit of Madame de 
Luxembourg, and even by the favour of the ministry, 
Ï was satisfied with myself for the resolution I had taken 
to retire in the midst of my triumphs, and at the moment 
when I had wholly defeated those by whom [I was envied. 

One thing in the publication of the work alarmed me, 
less on account of my safety than for the acquittance 


LC 294 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


of my conscience. At the Hermitage and at Mont- 
morency Î had seen with indignation, and at my very 
door, the vexations which a jealous care for the pleasures 
of princes causes to be exercised upon wretched peasants, 
forced to suffer the havoc made by game in their fields, 
without daring to protect themselves save by making a 
noise, being forced to pass the night amongst the beans 
and peas with drums, kettles, and bells, to keep off the 
wild boars. As I had been a witness to the barbarous 
cruelty with which the Comte de Charoloïs treated these 
poor people, I had, towards the end of Emile, exclaimed 
against it. This was another infraction of my maxims, 
which has not remained unpunished. I was informed 
that the agents of Monsieur le Prince de Conti were but 
little less severe upon his estates. I trembled lest that 
Prince, for whom I was full of respect and gratitude, 
should take to his own account what shocked humanity 
had made me say on that of his uncle, and feel himself 
offended. Yet, as my conscience reassured me upon this 
article, I made myself easy, and by so doing acted wisely: 
at least I have never heard that this great Prince took 
notice of the passage, written long before I had the 
honour of being known to him. 

A few days either before or after the publication of my 
work, for I do not exactly recollect the time, there ap- 
peared another work upon the same subject, taken 
verbatim from my first volume, except a few stupid 
things which were joined to the extract. This book bore 
the name of a Genevese, one Balexsert, and, according 
to the title-page, had gained the premium in the Academy 
of Haarlem. I easily imagined this Academy and this 
premium to be newly created, the better to conceal the 
plagiarism from the eyes of the public; but I further 
perceived that there was some prior intrigue which I 
could not unravel — either by the lending of my manu- 


C 295 ] 


THE :CCONFESSIONSUOE 


script, without which the theft could not have been com- 
mitted, or for the purpose of forging the story of the pre- 
tended premium, to which it was necessary to give some 
foundation. Ît was not until several years afterwards 
that, by a word which escaped D’Ivernois, [ penetrated 
the mystery, and discovered those by whom Sieur Balex- 
sert had been brought forward. 

The low murmurings which precede a storm began to 
be heard, and men of penetration clearly saw there was 
something hatching, relative to me and my book, which 
would shortly break forth. For my part, my stupidity 
was such that, far from foreseeng my misfortune, I did 
not even suspect the cause of it after I had felt its effect. 
It was artfully given out that, while the Jesuits were 
treated with severity, no indulgence could be shown to 
books, nor the authors of them, in which religion was 
attacked. [ was reproached with having put my name 
to Emile, as if I had not put it to all my other works, of 
which nothing was said. Authority seemed to fear lest 
it should be obliged regretfully to take some steps which 
circumstances rendered necessary on account of my im- 
prudence. Rumours to this effect reached my ears, and 
gave me little uneasiness: it never even came into my 
head that there could be the least thing m the whole 
affair which related to me personally, so perfectly irre- 
proachable and well supported did I think myself; hav- 
img besides conformed to every ministerial regulation, 
and not apprehendimg that Madame de Luxembourg 
would leave me im diffculties for an error which, if it 
existed, proceeded entirely from herself. But knowimg 
the manner of proceeding in like cases, and that it was. 
customary to punish booksellers while authors were 
favoured, Î had some uneasiness on account of poor 
Duchesne, whom I saw exposed to danger, should Mon- 
sieur de Malesherbes abandon him. 


CL 296 ] 





JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


My tranquillity still continued. Rumours increased, 
and soon changed their nature. The public, and es- 
pecially the Parliament, seemed 1irritated by my com- 
posure. In a few days the fermentation became terrible, 
and the object of the menaces being changed, these were 
immediately addressed to me. The Parliamentarians 
were heard to declare that burning books was of no effect, 
the authors also should be burned with them; not a 
word was said of the booksellers. The first time these 
expressions, more worthy of an inquisitor of Goa than of 
a senator, were related to me, I had no doubt of their 
coming from the Holbachians with an intention to alarm 
me, and excite me to flight. I laughed at their puerile 
manœuvre, and said that they would, had they known 
the real state of things, have thought of some other means 
of inspiring me with fear; but the rumour at length 
became such that [ perceived the matter was serious. 
Monsieur and Madame de Luxembourg had this year 
come to Montmorency in the begmnimg of June, which, 
for their second journey, was earlier than usual: I heard 
but little there of my new books, notwithstanding the 
noise they made m Paris; and the heads of the family 
said not a single word to me on the subject. However, 
_ one morning, when Monsieur de Luxembourg and I were 
together, he asked me if, im the Contrat Social, I had 
spoken ill of Monsieur de Choiseul. ‘I! said I, retreat- 
ing a few steps with surprise; “no; Î swear to you I have 
not; but, on the contrary, I have made on him, and with 
a pen not given to praise, the finest eulogrum a minister 
ever received.” I then showed him the passage.! ‘And 
in Émile?” replied he. ‘Not a word,’ saïd I; ‘there is not 
in it a single word which relates to him.” ‘Ah!’ said he, 
with more vivacity than was common to him, ‘you should 
have taken the same care in the other book, or have 


1 Le Contrat Social, Book zut. ch. vi. 


CL 297] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


expressed yourself more clearly.” ‘I thought,’ replied I, 
‘that I had so expressed myself; my esteem for him was 
such that Î[ could not do otherwise” He was again 
going to speak; [ perceived him ready to open his mind: 
he stopped short and held his tongue. Wretched policy 
of a courtier, which, in the best of hearts, subjugates 
friendship itself! 

This conversation, although short, explained to me my 
situation, at least in a certain way, and gave me to under- 
stand that it was against myself that enmity was 
directed. The unheard-of fatality which turned to my 
prejudice all the good I did and wrote afflicted my heart. 
Yet, feelimg myself shielded in this affair bÿ Madame de 
Luxembourg and Monsieur de Malesherbes, I did not 
perceive how my persecutors could deprive me of their 
protection; beyond this, I was convinced that equity 
and justice were thenceforth no longer in question, and 
that no trouble would be taken im examimmg whether I 
was culpable or no. The storm meanwhile became still 
more menacing. Néaulme himself expressed to me, in 
the excess of his babbling, how much he repented hav- 
ing had anything to do in the business, and his seeming 
certainty of the fate with which the book and the author 
were threatened. One thing, however, alleviated my 
fears: [ saw Madame de Luxembourg so calm, satisfied, 
and cheerful, that I concluded she must necessarily be 
certain of the sufficiency of her credit, seemg that she 
did not seem to have the least apprehension on my ac- 
count; that she said not a word to me either of consola- 
tion or apology; that she saw the turn the affair was 
takmg with as much unconcern as if she had nothing to 
do with it or with anything else that related to me. What 
surprised me most was her complete silence. I thought 
she should have said something on the subject. Madame 
de Boufflers appeared less easy. She was agitated and 


C 298 ] 


TÉEANTIACQUESTROUSSEAU 


restless, busied herself a good deal, assuring me that 
Monsieur le Prince de Conti was taking great pains to 
ward off the blow about to be directed against my person, 
and which she attributed to the nature of present cir- 
cumstances, in which it was of importance to the Parlia- 
iment not to suffer themselves to be accused by the 
 Jesuits of mdifference to religion. She did not, however, 
seem to depend much either upon the success of her own 
efforts or even those of the Prince. Her conversations, 
more alarming than reassuring, all tended to persuade 
me to leave the kingdom and go to England, where she 
offered to find me many friends; amongst others, the 
celebrated Hume, who had long been hers. Seeing me 
still unshaken, she had recourse to other arguments more 
capable of disturbing my tranquillity. She mtimated 
Ithat, m case Î was arrested and imterrogated, [ should 
be under the necessity of namimg Madame de Luxem- 
bourg, and that her friendship for me required, on my 
part, such precautions as were necessary to prevent her 
 bemg compromised. My answer was, that should what 
she apprehended come to pass, she need not be alarmed; 
that I should do nothing by which the lady might become 
a sufferer. She said that such a resolution was more 
| easily taken than adhered to, and in this she was right, 
especially with respect to me, determined as I always 
| have been neither to perjure myself nor lie before judges, 
whatever danger there might be in speaking the truth. 

|  Perceiving this observation had made some impres- 
| sion upon my mind, without, however, inducing me to 
Lkresolve upon flight, she spoke of the Bastille for a few 
| weeks, as a means of placing me beyond the reach of the 
| Jurisdiction of the Parliament, which has nothing to do 
With prisoners of State. I had no objection to this 
|smgular favour, provided it were not solicited in my 
iname. As she never spoke of it a second time, I after- 


C 299 ] 








me mme timer 


THESCONFESSAONENQE 


wards thought her proposition was made to sound me, 
and that the party did not think proper to have recourse 
to an expedient which would have put an end to every- 
thing. 

À few days afterwards, Monsieur le Maréchal recerved 
from the curé of Deuil, the friend of Grimm and Madame 
d’'Épinay, a letter mformimg him, as from good authority, 
that the Parliament was to proceed against me with the 
greatest severity, and that, on a day which he men- 
tioned, an order was to be given to arrest me. [ imagined 
that this was fabricated by the Holbachians. I knew 
the Parliament to be very attentive to forms, and that 
on this occasion, beginning by arrestimg me before it was 
juridically known whether I avowed myself the author 
of the book, was violating them all. [I observed to 
Madame de Bouflers that none but persons accused of 
crimes which tend to endanger the public safety were, 
on a simple information, ordered to be arrested lest 
they should escape punishment; but when Government 
wish to punish a crime like mine, which merits honour 
and recompense, the proceedings are directed against the 
book, and the author is as much as possible left out of 
the question. Upon this she made some subtle distinc- 
tion, which I have forgotten, to prove that ordering me to 
be arrested instead of summoning me to be heard was a 
matter of favour. The next day I recerved a letter from 
Guy, who imformed me that, having in the morning been 
with the Procureur-général, he had seen in his office the 
rough draft of a requisition against Emile and the author. 
Guy, it is to be remembered, was the partner of Du- 
chesne, who had printed the work, and, without appre- 
hensions on his own account, charitably gave this mfor- 
mation to the author. The credit I gave to him may be 
guessed. Î[t was, no doubt, a very probable story that a 
bookseller, admitted to an audience by Monsieur le 


C 300] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


Procureur-général, should read at ease scattered manu- 
scripts and rough drafts in the office of that magistrate. 
Madame de Boufflers and others confirmed what he had 
said. By the absurdities which were incessantly rung in 
my ears, [| was almost tempted to believe that every- 
body had lost his senses. 

_ Clearly percerving that there was some mystery, which 
no one thought proper to explam to me, I patiently 
awaited the event, depending upon my integrity and 
imnocence, and thinkmg myself happy, let the persecu- 
tion which awaited me be what it would, to be called to 
the honour of sufferimg in the cause of truth. Far from 
being afraid and concealing myself, I went every day to 
the château, and in the afternoon took my usual walk. 
On the 8th of June, the evening before the order was con- 
cluded on, I walked im company with two professors of 
the Oratory, Père Alamanni and Père Mandard. We 
carried to Les Champeaux a little collation, which we 
ate with a keen appetite. We had forgotten to bring 
glasses, and supplied the want of them by stalks of rye, 
through which we sucked up the wine from the bottle, 
piquing ourselves upon the choice of large tubes to vie 
with each other im pumping up what we drank. I never 
was more cheerful in my life. 

! [I have related in what manner I lost my sleep during 
k, youth. I had since that time contracted a habit of 
reading every night in my bed, until Î found my eyes 
egin to grow heavy. I then extinguished my wax taper, 
nd endeavoured to slumber for a few moments, which 
were in general very short. The book [ commonly read 
ht night was the Bible, which in this manner I read five 
>r six times from the beginning to the end. This evening, 
imding myself less disposed to sleep than ordinary, Î con- 
“mued my reading beyond the usual hour, and read the 
whole book which fnishes at the Levite of Ephraim — 


C 301 ] 











THE CONFESSIONS OF 


the Book of Judges, if I mistake not, for since that time 
I have never once seen it. This history affected me 
exceedingly, and in a kind of dream my imagination still 
ran on it, when suddenly I was roused from my stupor by 
a noise and a light. Thérèse, carrying a candle, lighted 
Monsieur La Roche, who, perceiving me hastily raise 
myself up, said: ‘Do not be alarmed; [ come from 
Madame la Maréchale, who, in her letter, encloses you 
another from Monsieur le Prince de Conti.” In fact, im 
the letter of Madame de Luxembourg I found another, 
which an express from the Prince had brought her, stating 
that, notwithstanding all his efforts, it was determined 
to proceed against me with the utmost rigour. ‘The 
fermentation,’ said he, ‘is extreme; nothing can ward off 
the blow; the Court requires it, and the Parliament will 
absolutely proceed; at seven o’clock in the morning an 
order will be made to arrest him, and persons will im- 
mediately be sent to execute it. I have obtained a 
promise that he shall not be pursued if he make his 
escape; but if he persists in exposing himself to be 
taken, this will immediately happen.” La Roche con- 
jured me on behalf of Madame de Luxembourg to rise 
and go to confer with her. It was two o’clock, and she 
had just retired to bed. ‘She expects you,’ he added; 
‘and will not go to sleep without speaking to you.” I 
dressed myself m haste and ran to her. 

She appeared to be agitated; it was the first time: 
Her distress affected me. In this moment of surprise, 
and in the night, I myself was not free from emotion; 
but on seeing her I forgot my own situation, and thought 
of nothing but herself, and the melancholy part she would 
have to play should I suffer myself to be arrested; for, 
while feeling that I had sufficient courage strictly to 
adhere to truth, although I might be certain of its 
being prejudicial or even destructive to me, Î was con: 


C 302] 


JPAN=-JACQUES' ROUSSEAU 


vinced that I had not presence of mind, address, nor per- 
haps firmness enough to avoid exposing her should I be 
closely pressed. This determined me to sacrifice my 
reputation to her tranquillity, and to do for her on this 
occasion that which nothing could have prevailed upon 
me to do for myself. The moment I had come to this 
resolution Î declared it, wishing not to diminish the mag- 
nitude of the sacrifice by giving her the least trouble to 
obtain it. ÏÎ am sure she could not mistake my motive, 
although she saïd not a word which proved to me she was 
sensible of it. [I was so much shocked at her indifference 
that for a moment I thought of retracting; but the 
Maréchal came in, and Madame de Boufflers arrived 
from Paris a few moments afterwards. They did what 
Madame de Luxembourg ought to have done. I suffered 
myself to be flattered; [ was ashamed to retract; and 
all that remained to be decided was the place of my 
retreat and the time of my departure. Monsieur de 
Luxembourg proposed to me to remain with him incog- 
nito a few days, that we might deliberate at leisure, and 
take such measures as should seem most proper; to this 
Ï could not consent, no more than to go secretly to 
the Temple. [I was determined to set off the same day 
rather than remain concealed in any place whatever. 
Knowing that I had secret and powerful enemies in the 
kmgdom, I thought, notwithstandmg my attachment to 
France, that I ought to quit it, the better to insure my 
future tranquillity. My first imtention was to retire to 
Geneva; but a moment of reflection was sufficient to 
dissuade me from committimg that act of folly. I knew 
that the ministry of France, more powerful at Geneva 
than at Paris, would not leave me more at peace in one 
of these cities than in the other, were a resolution taken 
to torment me. Î was also convinced that Le Discours 
sur l’Inégalité had excited against me in the Council a 


C 303 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


hatred the more dangerous since it dared not make itself 
manifest. I had also learned that when La Nouvelle 
Héloïse appeared, the same Council had hastened to 
forbid the sale of that work, upon the solicitation of 
Doctor Tronchin; but, perceiving the example was not 
imitated, even in Paris, the members were ashamed of 
what they had done, and withdrew the prohibition. I 
had no doubt that, fndimg m the present case a more 
favourable opportunity, they would be very careful to 
take advantage of it. Notwithstanding exterior appear- 
ances, Î knew that there reigned against me in the heart 
of every Genevese a secret jealousy, which only awaïted 
an occasion to show itself. Nevertheless, love of country 
called me to my own, and, could I have flattered myself 
that I might there live m peace, I should not have hesi- 
tated; but, neither honour nor reason permitting me to 
seek refuge there as a fugitive, [ resolved to approach 
it only, and to wait in Switzerland until something rela- 
tive to me should be determined upon in Geneva. This 
state of uncertainty did not, as it will soon appear, con- 
tinue long. 

Madame de Boufflers highly disapproved this resolu- 
tion, and renewed her efforts to mduce me to go to 
England: all she could say was of no effect. I have 
never loved England nor the English and the eloquence 
of Madame de Boufflers, far from conquering my repug- 
nance, seemed to increase it without my knowimg why. 

Determined to set off the same day, Î was from the 
morning maccessible to everybody; and La Roche, whom 
I sent to fetch my papers, would not tell Thérèse whether 
Ï was gone or no. Since I had determined some day to 
write my own memoirs, Î| had collected a great number 
of letters and other papers, so that much going to and fro 
was necessary. À part of these papers, already selected, 
were laid aside, and [ employed the morning im sortimg 


C 304 ] 


VÉRANEJACQUESTROUSSEAU 


the rest, that I might take with me such only as were 
useful and destroy what remained. Monsieur de Luxem- 
bourg was kind enough to assist me in this business, 
which we could not finish in the forenoon, and I had not 
time to burn a single paper. Monsieur le Maréchal 
offered to take upon himself to sort what I should leave 
behind me, and throw imto the fire every sheet that he 
found useless, without trusting to any person whomso- 
ever, and to send me those of which he should make 
choice. I accepted his offer, very glad to be delivered 
from that care, that I might pass the few hours I had to 
remain with persons so dear to me, from whom I was 
going to separate for ever. He took the key of the 
chamber im which I had left these papers; and, at my 
earnest solicitation, sent for my poor ‘aunt,’ who, not 
 knowing what was become of me, or what was to become 
of herself, and in momentary expectation of the arrival 
of the officers of justice without knowing how to act or 
what to answer them, was wofully perplexed. La Roche 
accompanied her to the château im silence; she thought 
[ was already far away. On percervmg me, she made 
the place resound with her cries, and threw herself 
into my arms. © friendship, affinity of sentiment, habit, 
and intimacy! In this pleasing yet cruel moment were 
concentrated many days of happiness, tenderness, and 
peace passed together, augmentmg the grief of a first 
separation after a union of seventeen years, during which 
we had scarcely lost sight of each other for a single day. 
| The Maréchal, who saw this embrace, could not suppress 
his tears. He withdrew. Thérèse resolved nevermore to 
leave me. [I made her understand the inconvenience of 
Dompeoyne me at that moment, and the necessity 
of her remaining to take charge of my effects and collect 
my money. When an order is made to arrest a man, it is 
customary to seize his papers, and put a seal upon his 


C 305 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


effects, or to make an inventory of them and appoint a 
guardian, to whose care they are intrusted. It was 
necessary that she should remain to observe what passed, 
and get everything settled in the most advantageous 
manner possible. Î promised her that she should shortly 
come to me; Monsieur le Maréchal confirmed my 
promise; but I did not choose to tell her whither I was 
going, that, in case she should be interrogated by the 
persons who came to take me into custody, she might 
with truth plead ignorance upon that head. In embrac- 
ing her the moment before we separated, I felt within me 
a most extraordinary emotion, and I saïd to her with an 
agitation which, alas! was but too prophetic, ‘My child, 
you must arm yourself with courage. You have par- 
taken of my prosperity; it now remains to you, since 
you have chosen it, to partake of my misery. Expect 
nothing in future but imsult and calamity in my train. 
The destiny begun for me by this melancholy day will 
pursue me until my latest hour.” 

[ had now nothing to think of but my departure. The 
officers were to arrive at ten o’clock. It was four im the 
afternoon when [I set off, and they had not yet come. 
It was determined that I should travel post. I had no 
carriage. The Maréchal made me a present of a cabrio- 
let, and lent me horses and a postillion as far as the first” 
stage, where, in consequence of the measures he had 
taken, [ had no difficulty in procurimg others. 

As I had not dined at table, nor made my appearance 
in the château, the ladies came to bid me adieu in the 
entresol, where I had passed the day. Madame [a Maré- 
chale embraced me several times with a melancholy arr, 
but I did not in these embraces feel the fervour of those 
that she had lavished upon me two or three years 
before. Madame de Boufflers also embraced me, and 
said to me many civil things. An embrace which sur- 


C 306 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


prised me more than all the rest had done was one from 
Madame de Mirepoix, for she also was there. Madame 
la Maréchale de Mirepoix is a person extremely cold, 
decent, and reserved, and did not seem quite exempt 
from the natural haughtiness of the House of Lorraine. 
She had never shown me much attention. Whether, 
flattered by an honour I had not expected, I endeavoured 
to enhance its value, or that there really was in the em- 
brace a little of that commiseration natural to generous 
hearts, I found im her manner and look a kind of energy 
which penetrated me. I have since that time frequently 
thought that, acquainted with my destiny, she could not 
refrain from a momentary concern for my fate. 

Monsieur le Maréchal did not open his mouth. He 
was as pale as death. He would absolutely accompany 
me to the carriage, which waited at the horse-trough. 
We crossed the garden without uttering a single word. 
I had a key of the park, with which I opened the gate, 
and instead of putting it again into my pocket Î tendered 
it to him without saying a word. He took it with a 
vivacity which surprised me, and which has since fre- 
quently intruded itself upon my thoughts. I have seldom 
in my whole life had a more bitter moment than that of 
this separation. Our embrace was long and silent: we 
both felt that this embrace was a last adieu. 

Between La Barre and Montmorency [ met, im a 
hired carriage, four men in black, who saluted me smil- 
ingly. According to what Thérèse has since told me of 
the officers of justice, the hour of their arrival and their 
manner of behaviour, I have no doubt that they were 
the persons Î met, especially as the order to arrest me, 
instead of being made out at seven o’clock, as I had been 
told it would, had not been given till noon. I had to 
go through Paris. A person in a cabriolet is not much 
concealed. I saw several persons in the streets who 


C 307] 


THE: CONFESSIONSRON: 


saluted me with an air of familiarity, but I did not know 
one of them. The same evening Î changed my route to 
go to Villeroy. At Lyons the couriers should be con- 
ducted to the commander. This might have been em- 
barrassing to a man unwilling either to lie or change his 
name. I went with a letter from Madame de Luxem- 
bourg to beg Monsieur de Villeroy would cause me to be 
spared this disagreeable ceremony. Monsieur de Villeroy 
gave me a letter, of which Ï made no use, because I did 
not go through Lyons. This letter still remains sealed up 
amongst my papers. Monsieur le Duc pressed me to 
sleep at Villeroy, but I preferred returning to the high- 
road, which I did, and travelled two more stages the 
same evening. 

My carriage was uncomfortable, and [ was too much 
indisposed to go far in a day. My appearance, besides, 
was not sufhciently distinguished for me to be well 
served, and in France post-horses only feel the whip 
upon the postillion’s shoulders. By paymg the guides 
generously, I thought I should make up for my appear- 
ance and address. This was still worse. They took me 
for a mean fellow who was carryimg orders, and for the 
first time im my life travelling post. From that moment 
I had nothing but worn-out hacks, and I became the 
sport of the postillions. I ended as I should have begun, 
by being patient, holding my tongue, and suffermg myself 
to be driven as they thought proper. 

I had sufficient matter of reflection to prevent me 
from being weary on the road, employing myself in re- 
viewing all that had just happened; but this was neither 
my turn of mind nor the imclination of my heart. The 
facility with which I forget past evils, however recent 
they may be, is astonishing. The remembrance of them 
becomes feeble, and, sooner or later, effaced, in inverse 
proportion to the greater degree of fear with which the 


C 308 ] 


OZ 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


approach of them imspires me. My cruel imagination, 
mcessantly tormented by the apprehension of evils still 
at a distance, diverts my attention, and prevents me from 
recollecting those which are past. Caution is needless 
after the evil has happened, and it is time lost to give it 
a thought. I, im some measure, put a period to my mis- 
fortunes before they happen; the more I have suffered 
at their approach, the greater 1s the facility with which I 
forget them; whilst, on the contrary, incessantly recol- 
lectimg my past happiness, I recall and ruminate on it, 1f 
Ï may so speak, even to the point of enjoying it anew at 
will. It is to this happy disposition that I am indebted 
for an exemption from that rancorous humour which fer- 
ments in a vindictive mind by the continual remem- 
brance of injuries received, and torments it with all the 
evil it wishes to do its enemy. Naturally choleric, I have 
felt all the force of anger, which in the first moments 
has sometimes been carried to fury; but a desire of ven- 
geance never took root within me. I think too little of 
the offence to give myself much trouble about the offender. 
I think of the imjury I have received from him only on 
account of that which he may do me a second time; 
and were Î certain he would never do me another, the 
first would be instantly forgotten. Pardon of offences is 
continually preached to us; it is doubtless a very fine 
virtue, but it concerns not me. I know not whether my 
heart would be capable of overcoming its hatred, for it 
never yet felt that passion, and I bestow too little thought 
on my enemies to have the merit of pardoning them. !I 
will not say to what a degree, in order to torment me, 
they torment themselves. I am at their mercy, they have 
unbounded power, and use it. There is but one thing 
beyond them, and in which I set them at defiance — 
that is, in tormenting themselves about me, to force me 
to give myself the least trouble about them. 


L 309 ] 


THELUCONFESSIONSMORr 


The day following my departure, I had so perfectly 
forgotten what had passed — the Parliament, Madame 
de Pompadour, Monsieur de Choiseul, Grimm, and 
D’Alembert, with their plots and conspiracies, — that, 
had it not been for the necessary precautions during the 
journey, [I should have thought no more of them. The 
remembrance of one thing which supplied the place of all 
these was what I had read the evening before my depar- 
ture. [I recollected also Gesner’s Idylls, which his trans- 
lator Hubert had sent me a little time before. These 
two ideas occurred to me so strongly, and were connected 
in such a manner in my mind, that Î was determined to 
endeavour to unite them by treating, after the manner 
of Gesner, the subject of the Levite of Ephraim. His 
pastoral and simple style appeared to me but little 
fitted to so horrid a subject, and it was not to be pre- 
sumed that my situation at that moment would furnish 
me with such ideas as would enliven it. However, I 
attempted the thing, solely to amuse myself in my 
cabriolet, and without the least hope of success. I had no 
sooner begun than Î was astonished at the gaiety of my 
ideas, and the facility with which I could express them. 
In three days Î composed the three first cantos of this 
little poem, which [ finished at Motiers, and I am cer- 
tain of not having done anything im my life in which 
there is a more interesting mildness of manner, a greater 
brilliancy of colourmg, more simple delineation, greater 
exactness of proportion, or more antique simplicity in 
general, notwithstanding the horror of the subject, which 
in itself 1s abomimable, so that, besides every other merit, 
I had still that of a difficulty conquered. If Le Lémie 
d’Epbraïm be not the best of my works, it will ever be 
the one I hold most dear. I have never read, nor shall 
[ ever read it again, without feeling within the applause 
of a heart without acrimony, which, far from being em- 


C3r0] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


bittered by misfortunes, is susceptible of consolation in 
the midst of them, and finds within itself a resource by 
which they are counterbalanced. Assemble the great 
philosophers, so superior in their books to adversity 
which they never suffered, place them in a situation 
similar to mine, and, im the first moments of indignation 
 consequent on imjured honour, give them a like work 
to compose: it will be seen in what manner they will 
acquit themselves of the task. 

When I set off from Montmorency to go into Switzer- 
‘land, I had resolved to stop at Yverdun, at the house of 
my good old friend Monsieur Roguin, who had several 
years before retired to that place, and had mvited me to 
go and see him. I had been told that Lyons was not the 
direct road, for which reason [ avoided going through 1t. 
But, on the other hand, I was obliged to pass through 
Besançon, a fortified town, and consequently subject to 
the same mconvenience. Î took it mto my head to turn 
about and go through Salins, under the pretence of going 
to see Monsieur de Mairan, the nephew of Monsieur 
Dupin, who had an employment at the saltworks, and 
formerly had given me many mvitations to his house. 
The expedient succeeded. Monsieur de Maïran was not 
‘in the way, and, happily, not being obliged to stop, I 
contimued my journey without bemg spoken to by any- 
body. 

The moment Î was within the territory of Berne, I 
bade them to stop. I got out of my carriage, prostrated 
myself, kissed the ground, and exclarmed im a transport 
of joy: ‘Heaven, the protector of virtue, be praised I 
touch a land of liberty!” Thus, blind and unsuspecting 
in my hopes, have I ever been passionately attached to 
that which was to make me unhappy. The astonished 
postillion thought me mad. [I regamed the carriage, and 
a few hours afterwards I had the pure and lively satis- 


C3] 





: 





CONFESSIONS OF JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


faction of feeling myself pressed within the arms of the 
worthy Roguim. Ah! let me breathe for a moment with 
this estimable host. It is necessary that I should gam 
strength and courage before I proceed further; I shall 
soon find need for both. 

It is not without reason that I have been diffuse, in the 
foregoing recital, respecting all the circumstances I have 
been able to recollect. Although they may seem a little 
uninteresting, yet, when once the thread of the con- 
spiracy is grasped, they may throw some light upon its 
progress; and, for example, without giving the first idea 
of the problem I am going to propose, they afford some 
aid in solving it. 

Suppose that, for the execution of the conspiracy of 
which I was the object, my absence was absolutely 
necessary, everything tending to that effect could not 
have happened otherwise than it did; but if, without 
suffermg myself to be startled by the nocturnal embassy 
of Madame de Luxembourg and troubled by her alarm, Î 
had continued to hold out as I had begun, and, instead 
of remaining at the castle, returned to my bed and slept 
quiet[y until morning, should I have equally had an order 
of arrest made out against me? This is a great question, 
upon which the solution of many others depends; and 
for the examination of it, the hour of the comminatory 
decree and that of the real decree may be remarked to 
advantage — a rude but evident example of the im- 
portance of the least detail im the exposition of facts of 
which the secret causes are sought, that they may be 
discovered by induction. 


C312] 


BOOK XII 
[1762] 
| ERE begins the work of darkness in which I have 


for the last eight years been enveloped, without 

— strive as [| would — being able to penetrate 
the dreadful obscurity. In the abyss of evil into which 
Ï am plunged, I feel the blows reach me, and see the im- 
mediate instruments; but Î cannot perceive the hand by 
which they are directed, or the means it employs. Shame 
and misfortune seem of themselves to fall upon me 1in- 
visibly. When in the affliction of my heart I suffer a 
groan to escape me, Î have the appearance of a man who 
complaims without reason, and the authors of my rum 
have acquired the imconcervable art of making the public, 
unknown to itself, or without its perceiving the effects of 
it, an accomplice in their conspiracy. Therefore, in my 
narrative of circumstances relative to myself, of the 
treatment I have received, and all that has happened to 
me, I shall not be able to indicate the directimg hand nor 
assign the causes, while I state the effect. The primi- 
tive causes are all given in the preceding books; every- 
thing in which I am imterested, and all the secret motives, 
are pointed out. But it is impossible for me to explain, 


even by conjecture, how the different causes combine to 


bring about the strange events of my life. If any amongst 


my readers should be generous enough to wish to probe 
the mystery to the bottom and discover the truth, let 


| 
| 
| 
| 


them read carefully over a second time the three preced- 
ing books; afterwards, at each fact they shall find stated 
in the books which follow, let them gain such mformation 


C313] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


as is within their reach, and go back from intrigue to in- 
trigue, and from agent to agent, until they come to the 
first mover of all. I know where their researches will 
terminate; but in the meantime I lose myself in the 
crooked and obscure subterranean path through which 
their steps must be directed. 

During my stay at Yverdun, I became acquainted 
with all the family of Monsieur Roguin, and amongst 
others with his niece, Madame Boy de La Tour,and her 
daughters, whose father, as I thmk I have already ob- 
served, I had formerly known at Lyons. She was at 
Yverdun upon a visit to her uncle and his sisters; her 
eldest daughter, about fifteen years of age, delighted me 
by her fine understanding and excellent disposition. I 
conceived the most tender friendship for the mother and 
the daughter. The latter was destimed by Monsieur 
Roguin to the colonel his nephew, a man already vergmg 
towards the decline of life, and who also showed me marks 
of great esteem and affection; but, although the heart of 
the uncle was set upon this marriage, which was much 
wished for by the nephew also, and I was very desirous to 
promote the satisfaction of both, the great dispropor- 
tion of age and the extreme repugnancy of the young 
lady made me jom with the mother in opposing this 
union, which did not take place. The colonel has since 
married Mademoiselle Dillan, his relation, beautiful and 
amiable as my heart could wish, and who has made him 
the happiest of husbands and fathers. Nevertheless 
Monsieur Roguin has not yet forgotten my opposition 
to his wishes. My consolation is in the certainty of hav- 
mg discharged to him and his family the duty of the most 
pure friendship, which does not always consist im being 
agreeable, but m advising for the best. 

Ï did not remain long m doubt about the reception 
which awaited me at Geneva, had I chosen to return to 


C314] 


JEAN-=-JACQUES, ROUSSEAU 


that city. My book was burned there, and on the 18th 
of June, nine days after an order to arrest me had been 
issued at Paris, another to the same effect was deter- 
mined upon by the Republic. So many incredible ab- 
surdities were stated in this second decree, in which the 
ecclesiastical edict was formally violated, that [ refused 
to believe the first accounts I heard of it, and when these 
were well confirmed, Î trembled lest so manifest an in- 
fraction of every law, beginning with that of common 
sense, should throw Geneva into utter confusion. I was, 
however, relieved from my fears; everything remained 
quiet. If there was any rumour amongst the populace, 
it was unfavourable to me, and I was publicly treated by 
all the gossips and pedants like a scholar threatened with 


a flogging for not having said his catechism. 


These two decrees were the signal for the cry of male- 
diction raised against me with unexampled fury in every 
part of Europe. AÏl the gazettes, journals, and pam- 
phlets loudly rang the tocsim. The French especially, that 
mild, generous, and polished people, who pique them- 
selves so much upon their attention and proper conde- 
scension to the unfortunate, mstantly forgetting their 
favourite virtues, signalised themselves by the number 
and violence of the outrages wherewith each vied with 


the other in overwhelmmg me. Î was Impious, an atheïst, 
| 


| 


| 


en author in Paris was afraid of incurrimg the animadver- 


a madman, a wild beast, a wolf. The continuator of the 
Journal de Trévous was guilty of a piece of extravagance 
in attacking my pretended Iycanthropy, which was no 
mean proof of his own. One would have thought that 


sion of the police by publishing a work of any kind with- 


tout cramming into it some insult to me. In seeking 


|vainly the cause of this unanimous animosity, [| was 
almost tempted to believe the world was gone mad. 
IWhat! the editor of the Perpetual Peace spread discord:; 


(150 





THE CONFESSIONS 


the author of the Savoyard Vicar impious; the writer of 
the Nouvelle Héloïse a wolf; the author of Emile a mad- 
man! Gracious God! what then should I have been had 
TI published the book entitled De l’Esprit,! or any similar 
work? And yet Im the storm raised against the author 
of that book, the public, far from joinmmg the cry of 
his persecutors, avenged him by their eulogies. Let his 
book and mine, the reception the two works met with, 
and the treatment of the two authors im the different 
countries of Europe, be compared; and for the difference 
let causes satisfactory to a man of sense be found, and 
J will ask no more. 

I found the residence of Yverdun so agreeable that I 
resolved to yield to the earnest solicitations of Monsieur 
Roguin and his family, who were desirous of keepimg me 
there. Monsieur de Moiry de Gingins, baïlli of that city, 
encouraged me by his goodness to remaim within his 
jurisdiction. The colonel pressed me so much to accept 
for my habitation a little pavilion he had in his house, 
between the court and the garden, that [I complied with 
his request, and he immediately furnished it with every- 
thmg necessary for my little household. The Banneret 
Roguin, one of the persons who showed me the most 
assiduous attention, did not leave me during the whole 
day. [ was much flattered by his civilities, but they 
sometimes worried me. The day on which I was to take 
possession of my new habitation was already fixed, and 
I had written to Thérèse to come to me, when suddenly a 
storm was raised against me im Berne, which was attrib- 
uted to religious fanatics, but I have never been able 
to learn the primary cause of it. The Senate, excited 
against me, without my knowimg by whom, did not seem 
disposed to suffer me to remain undisturbed in my re- 
treat. The moment Monsieur le Baïlli was informed of 

1 By Claude Adrien Helvétius (1715-1771). 


C316] 





JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


the new fermentation, he wrote in my favour to several 
members of the Government, reproaching them with their 
blind intolerance, and telling them it was shameful to 
refuse to a man of merit, under oppression, the asylum 
which so many banditti found in their States. Sensible 
people were of opinion that the warmth of his reproaches 
had rather embittered than softened the minds of the 
magistrates. However this may be, neither his influence 
nor his eloquence could ward off the blow. Having re- 
ceived an intimation of the order he was to signify to 
me, he gave me a previous communication of it; and, 
that I might not await its arrival, Î resolved to set off 
the next day. The difficulty was to know whither to go, 
finding myself shut out from Geneva and France, and 
foreseeing that in this affair each State would be anxious 
to imitate its nerghbour. 

Madame Boy de La Tour proposed to me to go and 
reside in an uninhabited but completely furnished house, 
which belonged to her son, in the village of Motiers, Im 
the Val de Travers, in the county of Neufchâtel. I had 
only a mountain to cross to arrive at it. The offer came 
the more opportunely, as in the States of the King of 
Prussia I should naturally be sheltered from persecution, 
at least religion could hardly serve as a pretext for it. 
But a secret difficulty, that I did not choose to divulge, 
had in it sufficient to make me hesitate. That imnate 
love of justice to which my heart was constantly subject, 
added to my secret inclination to France, had inspired 
me with an aversion to the King of Prussia, who, by his 
maxims and conduct, seemed to tread underfoot all 
respect for natural law and every duty of humanity. 
Amongst the framed engravings with which [I had deco- 
rated my donjon at Montmorency was a portrait of this 
prince, and under it a distich, which ended thus: — 

‘II pense en philosophe, et se conduit en roi.’ 


Royal 


THESCONFESSIONSUOF 


This, which from any other pen would have been a 
pretty compliment, from mine had an equivocal meaning, 
and too clearly explamed the verse by which it was pre- 
ceded.! The distich had been seen by everybody who 
came to see me, and my visitors were numerous. The 
Chevalier de Lorenzi had even written it down to give it 
to D’Alembert, and I had no doubt but D’Alembert had 
taken care to make his court with it to the prince. I had 
also aggravated this first fault by a passage im Emule, 
where, under the name of Adrastus, kmg of the Daunians, 
it was clearly seen whom I had im view, and the remark 
had not escaped commentators, for Madame de Boufflers 
had several times mentioned the subject to me. Î was 
therefore certaim of being inscribed in red ink on the 
registers of the King of Prussia, and besides, supposmg 
that he held the principles I had dared to attribute to 
him, he, for that reason, could not but be displeased 
with my writings and their author; for everybody knows 
that the evil-disposed and tyrants have never failed to 
conceive the most mortal hatred against me, solely on 
reading my works, without bemg acquainted with my 
person. 

However, [ had presumption enough to depend upon 
his mercy, and was far from thinking [I ran much risk. 
I knew none but weak men were slaves to the baser pas- 
sions, and that these had but little power over strong 
minds, such as I had always thought his to be. Accord- 
mg to his art of reigning, [I thought he could not but show 
himself magnanimous on this occasion, and that bemg so 
in fact was not above his character. I thought a mean 
and easy vengeance would not for a moment counter- 


1 This verse ran — 
“La gloire, l’intérêt, voilà son Dieu, sa loi.’ 
It did not precede the verse cited in the text. That was at the foot of 
the portrait; the other was written at the back. 


C318] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


balance his love of glory, and, putting myself in his place, 
his taking advantage of circumstances to overwhelm with 
the weight of his generosity a man who had dared to 
think ïüll of him did not appear to me impossible. I 
therefore went to settle at Motiers, with a confidence of 
which I immagined he would feel all the value, and saïd 
to myself: When Jean-Jacques rises to the elevation of 
Coriolanus, will Frederick sink below the General of the 
Volsci? 

Colonel Roguin insisted on crossing the mountains 
with me, and installing me at Motiers. A sister-in-law 
to Madame Boy de La Tour, named Madame Girardier, 
to whom the house in which I was going to live was very 
convenient, did not see me arrive there with pleasure; 
however, she with a good grace put me in possession of 
my lodging, and I boarded with her until Thérèse came, 
and my little establishment was formed. 

Perceiving at my departure from Montmorency that I 
should in future be a fugitive upon the earth, I hesitated 
about permitting her to come to me and partake of the 
wandering life to which I saw myself condemned. I felt 
that owing to this catastrophe the nature of our relation 
to each other was about to change, and that what until 
then had on my part been favour and friendship would 
in future become so on hers. If her attachment were 
proof against my misfortunes, [| knew that these must 
deeply grieve her, and that her grief would add to my 
pain. Should my disgrace weaken her affections, she 
would make me consider her constancy as a sacrifice, 
and, instead of feeling the pleasure I had in dividing 
with her my last morsel of bread, she would see nothing 
but her own merit in electing to follow me wherever I 
was driven by fate. 

Ï must say everything. I have never concealed the 
vices either of my poor Mamma or myself; I cannot be 


C319] 


THE: CONFESSIONSNOR 


more favourable to Thérèse, and, whatever pleasure I 
may have in doing honour to a person who is dear to me, 
I will not disguise the truth, although it may discover 
in her an error, if an mvoluntary change in the affections 
of the heart be one. [I had long perceived hers to grow 
cooler towards me, and that she was no longer to me 
what she had been in our younger days; and of this I 
was the more sensible, as for her I was what [I had 
always been. I fell into the same imconvenience the effect 
of which I had felt with Mamma, and this effect was the 
same now that I was with Thérèse. Let us not seek for 
perfection, which nature never produces; it would be the 
same thing with any other woman. The manner in which 
Ï had disposed of my children, however reasonable 1it 
had appeared to me, had not always left my heart at 
ease. While writing my Traité de l'Éducation I felt that 
I had neglected duties with which it was not possible 
to dispense. Remorse at length became so strong that it 
almost forced from me a public confession of my fault at 
the beginning of my Émile, and the passage is so clear that 
it is astonishing how any person should, after reading it, 
have had the courage to reproach me.! My situation 
was, however, still the same, or something worse, by the 
animosity of my enemies, who sought to detect me in a 
fault. I feared a relapse, and, unwillmg to run the risk, 
I preferred abstinence to exposing Thérèse to a similar 
mortification. [ had besides remarked that a connection 
with women was prejudicial to my health; this double 
reason made me form resolutions which I had sometimes 
but badly kept, but for the last three or four years I had 
more constantly adhered to them. It was in this mterval 
Ï had remarked Thérèse’s coolness. She had the same 


1 ‘A father, when he begets and feeds children, thereby performs 
but a third part of his task. . He who cannot fulfil the duties of a 
father has no right to become such. ?— Émile, Book 1. 


C 320 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


attachment to me from duty, but no longer from love. 
Our intercourse naturally became less agreeable, and I 
imagined that, certain of the continuation of my care 
wherever she might be, she would choose to stay at Paris 
rather than to wander with me. Yet she had given such 
signs of grief at our parting, had required of me such 
positive promises that we should meet again, and, since 
my departure, had shown to Monsieur le Prince de Conti 
and Monsieur de Luxembourg so strong a desire of it, 
that, far from having the courage to speak to her of 
separation, [ scarcely had enough to think of it myself; 
and, after having felt in my heart how impossible it was 
for me to do without her, all I thought of afterwards was 
to recall her to me as soon as possible. I wrote to her to 
this effect, and she came. It was scarcely two months 
since Ï had quitted her, but it was our first separation 
after so many years. We had both of us felt it most 
cruelly. What emotion im our first embrace! Oh, how 
delightful are the tears of tenderness and joy! How does 
my heart drink them up! Why have I not had reason to 
shed them more frequently? 

On my arrival at Motiers I had written to Lord Keith, 
Marshal of Scotland and Governor of Neufchâtel, in- 
forming him of my retreat into the States of his Prussian 
Majesty, and requesting of him his protection. He 
answered me with his well-known generosity, and in the 
manner Î had expected from him. He invited me to his 
house. I went with Monsieur Martinet, Châtelam of 
Val de Travers, who was in great favour with his excel- 
lency. The venerable appearance of this illustrious and 
virtuous Scotchman powerfully affected my heart, and 
from that instant began between him and me the strong 
attachment which on my part still remains the same, 
and would be so on his had not the traitors who have 
deprived me of all the consolations of life taken ad- 


C321] 


THE CONFESSIONSMOR 


vantage of my absence to deceive his old age and depre- 
ciate me in his esteem. 

George Keith, Hereditary Marshal of Scotland, and 
brother to the famous General Keith, who lived gloriously 
and died on the bed of honour, had quitted his country 
at a very early age, and was proscribed on account of his 
attachment to the House of Stuart. With that house, 
however, he soon became disgusted by the unjust and 
tyrannical spirit he observed in it — always its ruling 
characteristic. He lived a long time in Spain, the climate 
of which pleased him exceedingly, and at length attached 
himself, as his brother had done, to the service of the 
King of Prussia, who knew the nature of men, and gave 
them the reception they merited. He was well rewarded 
for this reception in the services rendered him by Marshal 
Keith, and by what was imfinitely more precious, the 
sincere friendship of his lordship. The great mind of 
this worthy man, haughty and republican, could stoop to 
no other yoke than that of friendship; but to this he was 
so obedient that, with very different maxims, he saw 
nothing but Frederick from the moment he became at- 
tached to him. The King charged the Marshal with 
affairs of importance, sent him to Paris, to Spain, and at 
length, seeng he was already advanced im years and in 
need of repose, let him retire with the government of 
Neufchâtel, and the delightful employment of passing 
there the remainder of his life in rendering that little 
population happy. 

The people of Neufchâtel, whose manners are frivolous, 
know not how to distinguish solid merit, and suppose 
wit to consist in long discourses. When they saw a 
sedate man, of simple manners, appear amongst them, 
they mistook his simplicity for haughtiness, his candour 
for rusticity, his [aconism for stupidity, and rejected his 
benevolent regard, because, wishing to be useful, and not 


C322] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


being a sycophant, he knew not how to flatter people he 
did not esteem. In the ridiculous affair of the minister 
Petitpierre, who was expelled by his colleagues for hav- 
ing been unwilling that they should be eternally damned, 
my lord, opposing the usurpations of the ministers, saw 
the whole country of which he took the part rise up 
against him, and when ÎI arrived there the stupid mur- 
mur had not entirely subsided. He passed for a man 
influenced by the prejudices of others, and of all the 
imputations brought against him it was perhaps the least 
unjust. My first sentiment on seeing this venerable old 
man was that of tender commiseration on account of his 
extreme leanness of body, years having already left him 
almost fleshless; but, when I raised my eyes to his ani- 
mated, open, noble countenance, I felt a respect mingled 
with confidence which absorbed every other sentiment. 
He answered the very short compliment that [I made 
him when ÎI first came mto his presence by speaking of 
something else, as if I had already been a week in his 
house. He did not even bid us sit down. The stupid 
châtelain remaimed standing. For my part, ÎÏ saw im the 
fne and piercing eye of his lordship something so con- 
ciliating that, feeling myself entirely at ease, [ took my 
seat unceremoniously by his side upon the sofa. By the 
familiarity of his manner Î immediately perceived that 
the liberty [I took gave him pleasure, and that he said to 
himself, ‘This is not a Neufchâtelois.’ 

Smgular effect of the similarity of characters! At an 
age when the heart loses its natural warmth, that of this 
good old man grew warm towards me to a degree which 
surprised everybody. He came to see me at Motiers, 
under the pretence of quail-shooting, and stayed there 
two days without touching a gun. We conceived such 
a friendship for each other that we knew not how to live 
separate. The Château of Colombier, where he passed 


[323] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


the summer, was six leagues from Motiers. Ï went there 
at least once a fortnight, and made a stay of twenty-four 
hours, and then returned like a pilgrim with my heart 
full of affection for my host. The emotion [I had for- 
merly experienced in my journeys from the Hermitage to 
Eaubonne was certamly very different, but it was not 
more pleasimg than that with which [ approached Colom- 
bier. What tears of tenderness have I often shed when 
on the road to it, while thmking of the paternal goodness, 
amiable virtues, and charming philosophy of this worthy 
old man! I called him father, and he called me son. 
These affectionate names give, in some measure, an idea 
of the attachment by which we were united, but by no 
means that of the want we felt of each other, nor of our 
continual desire to be together. He would absolutely 
give me an apartment at the Château of Colombier, and 
for a long time pressed me to take up my residence in that 
in which I lodged during my visits. I at length told him 
I felt more freedom in my own house, and that I had 
rather continue until the end of my life to come and see 
him. He approved of my candour, and never afterwards 
spoke to me on the subject. O my good lord! O my 
worthy father, how is my heart still moved when I think 
of you! Ah, barbarous wretches, how deeply did they 
wound me when they detached you from mel But no, 
great man, you are, and will ever be, the same for me, 
who am still the same. You have been deceived, but you 
are not changed.! 

My Lord Marshal is not without faults; he 1s a man of 
wisdom, but still a man. With the greatest penetration, 
the nicest discrimination, and the most profound knowl- 


1 Marshal Keith, who was intimately acquainted with Hume, was 
sensibly hurt by Rousseau’s quarrel with the historian, and expressed his 
sorrow on the occasion; but so little was he ‘detached’ from Rousseau 
that in May 1778 he bequeathed to him the watch he had always worn. 


C 324] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


edge of men, he sometimes suflers himself to be deceived, 
and never recovers his error. His temper is very simgular, 
and there is something odd and strange in his turn of 
mind. He seems to forget the people he sees every day, 
and thinks of them in a moment when they least expect 
it; his attention seems ill-timed; his presents are dictated 
by caprice and not by propriety; he gives or sends in 
an instant whatever comes into his head, be the value of 
it great or small. À young Genevese, desirous of enter- 
ing into the service of Prussia, made a personal applica- 
tion to him. His lordship, mstead of giving him a letter, 
gave him a little bag of peas, which he desired him to 
carry to the King. On receiving this singular recom- 
mendation his Majesty gave a commission to the bearer 
of it. These elevated genruses have between themselves 
a language which the vulgar will never understand. 
These whimsicalities, something like the caprice of a fine 
woman, rendered him still more interesting to me. I was 
certain, and afterwards had proofs, that they had not the 
least influence over his sentiments, nor did they affect 
the cares prescribed by friendship on serious occasions; 
yet in his manner of obliging there is the same singu- 
larity as in his manners in general. Of this [ will give one 
instance relative to a matter of no great importance. 
The journey from Motiers to Colombier bemg too long 
for me to perform in one day, Ï commonly divided it by 
setting off after dinner, and sleeping at Brot, which is 
half-way. The landlord of the house where [I stopped, 
named Sandoz, having to solicit at Berlm a favour of 
extreme importance to him, begged I would request his 
excellency to ask it in his behalf. “Most willingly,” said 
I, and took him with me. I left him im the antechamber, 
and mentioned the matter to his lordship, who returned 
me no answer. The whole forenoon passed: as Î crossed 
the hall to go to dinner Î saw poor Sandoz, who was 


C 325] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


fatigued to death with waiting. Thinking that my lord 
had forgotten him, [ again spoke of the business before 
we sat down to table, but still received no answer. I 
thought this manner of making me feel 1 was impor- 
tunate rather severe, and, pitying the poor man im wait- 
ing, held my tongue. On my return the next day [ was 
much surprised at the thanks he returned me for the 
good dinner his excellency had given him in addition to 
receiving his paper. Three weeks afterwards his lord- 
ship sent him the receipt he had solicited, dispatched by 
the minister and signed by the King, and this without 
having said a word either to myself or Sandoz concern- 
ing the business, with which [ had supposed him unwill- 
img to trouble himself. 

I could wish imcessantly to speak of George Keith; 
from him proceeds my recollection of the last happy 
moments Ï have enjoyed; all the rest of my life has been 
passed im affliction and grief of heart. The remembrance 
of this is so melancholy and confused that it was impos- 
sible for me to observe the least order in narrating 
events; henceforward I shall be obliged to set them 
down promiscuously, and as they present themselves to 
my mind. 

Ï was soon relieved from my mquietude as to the cer- 
tainty of my asylum by the answer from his Majesty to 
the Lord Marshal, m whom, as it will readily be believed, 
[ had found an able advocate. The King not only ap- 
proved of what he had done, but desired him — for I 
must relate everything — to give me twelve louis. The 
good old man, rather embarrassed by the commission, 
and not knowing well how to execute it, endeavoured to 
soften the insult by transforming the money into pro- 
visions, and writing to me that he had received orders 
to furnish me with wood and coal to begin my little 
establishment; he moreover added, and perhaps from 


C 326 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


himself, that his Majesty would willingly build me a 
small house, such a one as I should choose to have 
provided I would fix upon the ground. I was extremely 
sensible of the last offer, which made me forget the petti- 
ness of the other. Without accepting either, [ considered 
Frederick as my benefactor and protector, and became 
so sincerely attached to him that from that moment I 
interested myself as much m his glory as until then I 
had thought his successes unjust. At the peace he con- 
 cluded soon after I expressed my joy by an illumination 
in very good taste: it was a string of garlands with which 
Ï decorated the house I mhabited, and in which, it is 
true, ÎÏ had the vindictive haughtiness to spend almost 
as much money as he had wished to give me. The 
peace ratified, Î thought, as he was at the highest pin- 
nacle of military and political fame, he would think of 
acquiring that of another nature, by reanimating his 
States, encouraging in them commerce and agriculture, 
creating a new soil, covering it with a new people, main- 
taining peace amongst his neighbours, and becoming the 
arbitrator, after having been the terror, of Europe. He 
was in a situation to sheathe his sword without danger, 
certain that none would oblige him agaim to draw it. 
Perceiving that he did not disarm, I feared that he would 
profit but little by his advantages, and that he would be 
great only by halves. I dared to write to him upon the 
subject, and with a famihiarity of a nature to please men 
of his character, conveying to him the sacred voice of 
truth, which but few kings are worthy to hear. The 
liberty I took was a secret between him and myself. I 
did not communicate it even to the Lord Marshal, to 
whom I sent my letter to the King sealed up. His lord- 
ship forwarded my dispatch without asking what it con- 
tamed. His Majesty returned me no answer; and the 
Marshal going soon after to Berlin, the King told him 


[3271 


THE<CONFESSIONSUOEF 


he had received from me a good scolding. By this I 
understood that my letter had been ill received, and 
that the frankness of my zeal had been mistaken for 
the rusticity of a pedant. In fact, this might well 
be so; perhaps I did not say what was necessary, 
nor in the manner proper to the occasion. AÏI I can 
answer for is the sentiment which induced me to take 
up my pen. 

Shortly after my establishment at Motiers-Travers, 
having every possible assurance that I should be suffered 
to remain there im peace, [I took the Armenian garb. 
This was not the first time Ï[ had thought of doing it: 
J had many times had the same intention, particularly 
at Montmorency, where the frequent use of probes, often 
obligmg me to keep my chamber, made me more clearly 
perceive the advantages of a long robe. The convenience 
of an Armenian tailor, who frequently came to see 
one of his relations at Montmorency, almost tempted 
me to determine on taking this new dress, troubling 
myself but little about what the world would say of it. 
Yet, before adopting this new attire, [| wished to have 
the opinion of Madame de Luxembourg, who strongly 
advised me to follow my imclmation. [I therefore pro- 
cured a little Armenian wardrobe, but, on account of the 
storm raised against me, Î was induced to postpone mak- 
mg use of it until I should enjoy tranquillity; and it was 
not until some months afterwards that, urged by new 
attacks of my disorder, I thought Î could properly, and 
without the least risk, put on my new dress at Motiers, 
especially after having consulted the pastor of the place, 
who told me I might wear it even in the temple without 
scandal. Î then adopted the vest, caftan, furred bon- 
net, and girdle, and after having in this dress attended 
divine service, ÎÏ saw no impropriety in going in it to 
visit the Marshal. His excellency, on seeing me clothed 


[328 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


in this manner, made me no other compliment than that 
which consisted in saying ‘Salamaleki, : after which 
nothing more was said upon the subject, and I ceased to 
wear any other garments. | 

Having quite abandoned literature, all I now thought 
of was leading a quiet life, and one as agreeable as I 
could make it. When alone [ have never felt weariness 
of mind, not even in complete inaction; my imagination, 
filling up every void, is sufficient to keep up my atten- 
tion. The inactive babbling of a private circle, where, 
seated opposite to each other, the company move noth- 
ing but the tongue, is the only thmg I have ever been 
unable to support. When walkmg and rambling about 
there is some satisfaction im conversation; the feet and 
eyes do somethimg; but to hear people with their arms 
across speak of the weather, of the biting of flies, or, 
what is still worse, compliment each other, is to me an 
msupportable torment. That [| might not live like a 
savage, [ took it imto my head to learn to make laces. 
Like the women, [ carried my cushion with me when I 
went to make visits, or sat down to work at my door 


band chatted with passers-by. This made me the better 


support the emptiness of babbling, and enabled me to 
pass my time with my female neighbours without weari- 
ness. Several of these were very amiable, and not devoid 
of wit. One in particular, Isabelle d’Ivernois, daughter 
of the Procureur-général of Neufchâtel, I found so esti- 
mable as to imduce me to enter with her mto terms of 
particular friendship, from which she derived some ad- 
vantage by the useful advice I gave her, and the services 
she received from me on occasions of importance, so that 
now a worthy and virtuous mother of a family, she 1s 
perhaps indebted to me for her reason, her husband, her 
life, and her happiness. On my part, Î received from 


1 Le Bourgeois Gentilbomme, iv. 6. 


L 329 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF. 


her gentle consolation, particularly during a melancholy 
winter, throughout which, when my sufferings were most 
cruel, she came to pass with Thérèse and me long eve- 
nings, which she made very short to us by her agreeable 
conversation, and our mutual openness of heart. She 
called me papa, and I called her daughter, and these 
names, which we still give to each other, will, [ hope, con- 
tinue to be as dear to her as they are to me. That my 
laces might be of some utility I gave them to my young 
female friends at their marriages, upon condition of their 
suckling their children. Isabelle’s elder sister had one 
upon these terms, and well deserved it by her observance 
of them. Isabelle herself also received another, which, 
by intention, she as fully merited; but she has not been 
so happy as to be able to fulfil her wish. When I sent 
the laces to the two sisters [I wrote each of them a letter. 
The first has been shown about in the world, the second 
has not the same celebrity: friendship proceeds with less 
noise. 

Amongst the connections Î made in my neïighbourhood, 
of which I will not enter mto a detail, Î must mention 
that with Colonel Pury, who had a house upon the 
mountain where he came to pass the summer. I was not 
anxious to become acquainted with him, because I knew 
he was upon bad terms at court, and with the Lord 
Marshal, whom he did not visit. Yet, as he came to see 
me, and showed me much attention, Î was under the 
necessity of returning his visit. This was repeated, and 
we sometimes dined with each other. At his house I 
became acquainted with Monsieur du Peyrou, and after- 
wards was on such imtimate terms with him that I cannot 
pass his name over in silence. 

Monsieur du Peyrou was an American, son to a com- 
mandant of Surinam, whose successor, Monsieur Le 
Chambrier, of Neufchâtel, married his widow. Left a 


L 330] 


JIBAN=J'ACOUES' 'ROUSS'E AU 


widow a second time, she came with her son to live in 
the country of her second husband. Du Pevyrou, an only 
son, very rich, and tenderly beloved by his mother, had 
been carefully brought up, and his education was not 
lost upon him. He had acquired much general knowl- 
edge, a taste for the arts, and piqued himself upon his 
having cultivated the rational faculty. His Dutch air, 
cold and philosophie, his yellow complexion, and silent 
and close disposition, favoured this opinion. Although 
young, he was already deaf and gouty. This rendered 
his motions deliberate and very grave, and although he 
was fond of disputing, he in general spoke but little, be- 
cause his hearimg was bad. I was struck with his ex- 
terior, and said to myself, “This is a thinker, a man of 
wisdom, such a one as anybody would be happy to have 


for a friend. He frequently addressed himself to me 


without paying the least compliment, and this strength- 
ened the favourable opinion I had already formed of him. 
He saïd but little to me of myself or my books, and still 
less of himself; he was not destitute of ideas, and what 
he said was fairly just. This justness and equality at- 
tracted my regard. He had neither the elevation of 
mind nor the discrimination of my Lord Marshal, but he 
had his simplicity: this was still representing him m 
something. [ did not become infatuated with him, but 
he acquired my attachment from esteem, and by degrees 
this esteem led to friendship. With him, I totally for- 
got the objection that [ made to Baron Holbach — that 
he was too rich — and I think Î was wrong. I have 
learned to doubt whether a man who enjoys a large for- 
tune, whoever he may be, can have a sincere liking for 
my principles and their author. 

For a long time I saw but little of Du Peyrou, because 
I did not go to Neufchâtel, and he came but once a year 
to the mountain pertaining to Colonel Pury. Why did 


MECS ut 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


Ï not go to Neufchâtel? This proceeded from a childish- 
ness upon which I must not be silent. 

Although protected by the King of Prussia and the 
Lord Marshal, while [ escaped persecution in my retreat, 
I did not escape the murmurs of the public, of municipal 
magistrates, and ministers. After the impulse given by 
France, it became fashionable to insult me in some way; 
these people would have been afraid'to seem to disap- 
prove of what my persecutors had done by not imi- 
tating them. The Classe of Neufchâtel — that is, the 
collective ministers of that city — gave the signal, by 
endeavourmg to move the Council of State against me. 
This attempt not having succeeded, the ministers ad- : 
dressed themselves to the municipal magistrate, who 
immediately prohibited my book, treating me on all 
occasions with but little civility, and saying that, had I 
wished to reside in the city, I should not have been suf- 
fered to doit. They filled their Mercure with absurdities 
and the most stupid hypocrisy, which, although it made 
every man of sense laugh, mcensed the people against 
me. This, however, did not prevent them from settmg 
forth that I ought to be extremely grateful for their per- 
mission to live at Motiers, where they had no authority; 
they would willingly have measured me the air by the 
pint, provided I had paid dearly for it. They would have 
it that Ï was obliged to them for the protection the 
King granted me, im spite of the efforts they incessantly 
made to deprive me of it. Fimally, failing of success, 
after having done me all the injury they could, and de- 
famed me to the utmost of their power, they made a 
merit of their impotence, by boasting of their goodness 
in sufferimg me to stay in their country. My only answer 
ought to have been to laugh im their faces, but I was 
foolish enough to be vexed at them, and had the weakness 
to be unwilling to go to Neufchâtel — a resolve to which 


L 332 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


I adhered for almost two years, as if it were not doing 
too much honour to such wretches to pay attention to 


their proceedings, which, good or bad, could not be 


imputed to them, because they never act but from a 
foreign impulse. Besides, minds without light or culture, 
whose sole objects of esteem are influence, power, and 
money, are far from imagining any respect is due to 
talents, and that it is dishonourable to injure and insult 
them. | 

À certam mayor of a village, who for sundry malver- 
sations had been deprived of his office, said to the lieu- 
tenant of Val-de-Travers, the husband of my Isabelle: 
‘I am told that this Rousseau has so much wit! bring 
him to me, that Î may see 1f this be true.” The disappro- 
bation of such a man ought certamly to have no effect 
upon those on whom it falls. 

After the treatment [I had received at Paris, Geneva, 
Berne, and even at Neufchâtel, [ expected no greater 
favour from the pastor of this place. I had, however, 
been recommended to him by Madame Boy de La Tour, 
and he had given me a good reception; but in that 
country, where every new-comer is indiscrimimately 
flattered, civilities signify but little. Yet, after my 
solemn reunion with the Reformed Church, and living 
in a Protestant country, Î[ could not, without failing in 
my engagements, as well as in the duty of a citizen, 
neglect the public profession of the religion mto which 
I had entered. I therefore attended divime service. On 
the other hand, im goimg to the holy table, I was afraid 
of exposing myself to a refusal, and it was by no means 
probable that, after the tumult excited at Geneva by the 
Council, and at Neufchîitel by the Classe, he would with- 
out difculty administer to me the sacrament im his 
church. The time of communion approaching, I resolved 
to write to Monsieur de Montmollin, the minister, to 


(3321 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


prove to him my goodwill and my desire of communicat- 
ing, and declaring myself heartily united to the Protes- 
tant Church. I also told him, in order to avoid quibbles 
upon articles of faith, that Î would not hearken to any 
particular explanation of dogmas. After thus puttimg 
myself m the right, Î made myself easy, not doubting 
but that Monsieur de Montmollin would refuse to admit 
me without the preliminary discussion, which I wished 
to avoid, and that im this manner everything would be 
at an end without any fault of mine. Î was deceived. 
When I least expected anything of the kind, Monsieur 
de Montmollin came to declare to me not only that he 
admitted me to the communion under the condition 
which TI had proposed, but that he and his elders thought 
themselves much honoured by my being one of their 
flock. I never m my whole life felt greater surprise, or 
received from it more consolation. Living always alone 
and unconnected appeared to me a melancholy destiny, 
especially in adversity. In the midst of so many pro- 
scriptions and persecutions, [ found it extremely pleasant 
to be able to say to myself: ‘I am at least among my 
brethren’; and Î went to the communion with an emo- 
tion of heart, and my eyes suffused with tears of tender- 
ness, which perhaps were to God the most acceptable 
preparation that any one can take thither. 

Some time afterwards his lordship sent me a letter 
from Madame de Boufflers, which he had received — at 
least Î presume so — by means of D’Alembert, who was 
acquamted with the Marshal. In this letter, the first 
that lady had written to me since my departure from 
Montmorency, she rebuked me severely for having 
written to Monsieur de Montmollin, and especially for 
having communicated. I the less understood what she 
meant by her reproof, since, after my journey to Geneva, 
I had constantly declared myself a Protestant, and had 


LC 334] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


gone publicly to the Hôtel de Hollande without imcurring 
the least censure from anybody. It appeared to me 
diverting enough that Madame de Boufflers should seek 
to direct my conscience in matters of religion. However, 
as Ï had no doubt that her intentions, little as Ï compre- 
. hended them, were wholly pure, I was not offended by 
this singular sally, and [I answered her without anger, 
stating to her my reasons. 

Meanwhile, calumnies m print were still industriously 
circulated, and their benign authors reproached the 
 powers with treatimg me too mildly. For my part, I let 
them say and write what they pleased, without giving 
myself the least concern about the matter. I was told 
that there was a censure from the Sorbonne, but this I 
could not believe. What could the Sorbonne have to do 
im the matter? Did they wish to know to a certainty 
that Î was not a Catholic? Everybody already knew it. 
Were they desirous of proving that ÎÏ was not a good 
Calvinist? Of what consequence was this to them? It 
was taking upon themselves a smgular care, and becom- 
mg the substitutes of our ministers. Before I saw this 
publication I thought it was distributed im the name of 
the Sorbonne by way of mockery, and when [ had read 
it Ï was convinced that this was the case. But when at 
length there was not a doubt of its authenticity, all I 
could bring myself to believe was, that the Sorbonne 
ought to be transferred to the Petites-Maisons. 


[1763.] Î was more affected by another publication, 
because it came from a man for whom I always had 
an esteem, and whose constancy I admired, though I 
pitied his blindness. I mean the mandatory letter issued 
against me by the Archbishop of Paris. 

I thought myself bound to answer it. This Î could 
do without derogating from my dignity; the case was 


C335] 


THECCONFESSTONSAROR 


something similar to that of the King of Poland. I have 
always detested brutal disputes, after the manner of 
Voltaire. I never combat but with dignity, and before I 
deign to defend myself I must be certain that he by whom 
Ï am attacked will not dishonour my retort. I had no 
doubt but that this letter was fabricated by the Jesuits, 
and, although they themselves were at that time im dis- 
tress, [I discovered im it their old principle of crushing 
the wretched. Î was therefore at liberty to follow my 
own ancient maxim, by honourimg the titulary author 
and refutmg the work, which I think I did completely. 

I found my residence at Motiers very agreeable, and 
nothmg was wanting to determine me to end my days 
there but a certamty of the means of subsistence. 
Livmg is dear in that neighbourhood, and all my old 
projects had been overturned by the dissolution of my 
household arrangements, the establishment of others, the 
sale or squandering of my furniture, and the expenses I 
had necessarily incurred since my departure from Mont- 
morency. The little capital which remamed to me daily 
diminished. ‘Two or three years were suflicient to con- 
sume the remainder without my having the means of 
renewing it, except by again engaging in literary pursuits, 
a pernicious profession which I had already abandoned. : 

Persuaded that everything which concerned me would 
soon change, and that the public, recovered from 1ts 
frenzy, would make my powerful persecutors blush, I 
only endeavoured to prolong my resources until this 
happy revolution should take place, after which [ could 
more freely choose amongst those which might offer 
themselves. To this effect I took up my Dictionnaire de 
Musique, which ten years’ labour had so far advanced as 
to leave nothmg wanting to it but the last corrections 
and the making of a fair copy. My books, which I had 
lately received, enabled me to finish this work; my 


C 336] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


papers, sent me by the same conveyance, furnished me 
with the means of beginning my Memoirs, to which I was 
determined to give my whole attention. I began by 
transcribing the letters into a book, by which my memory 
might be guided in the order of facts and time. IT had 
already selected those I intended to keep for this pur- 
pose, and for ten years the series was not imterrupted. 
However, im preparimg them for copying I found a gap 
at which I was surprised. This was for almost six months 
— from October 1756 to the March following. I recol- 
lected having put into my selection a number of letters 
from Diderot, De Deyleyre, Madame d’Épinay, Madame 
de Chenonceaux, etc., which filled up the void and were 
missing. What was become of them? Had any persons 
laid their hands upon my papers whilst they remained 
for some months in the Hôtel de Luxembourg? This was 
not conceivable, and I had seen Monsieur de Luxem- 
bourg take the key of the chamber in which I had de- 
posited them. Many letters from different ladies, and all 
those from Diderot, bemg without date, on which ac- 
count I had been under the necessity of dating them from 
memory and by guess before they could be put in order, 
I thought at first that Î might have committed errors, 
and again looked them over for the purpose of seeing 
whether I could not find those which ought to fill up the 
void. This experiment did not succeed. I perceived the 
vacancy to be real, and that the letters had certainly 
been carried off. By whom, and for what purpose? This 
was what I could not comprehend. These letters, written 
prior to my great quarrels, and at the time of my first 
enthusiasm in the composition of Julie, could not be 
interesting to any person. They contained nothing 
more than cavillmgs by Diderot, jeerimgs from Deyleyre, 
assurances Of friendship from Madame de Chenonceaux, 
and even from Madame d’Épinay, with whom I was then 


CL 337] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


upon the best of terms. To whom were these letters of 
consequence? To what use were they to be put? It was 
not until seven years afterwards that I suspected the 
object of the theft. 

The deficiency bemg no longer doubtful, I Iooked over 
my rough drafts to see whether or not it was the only one. 
I found some, which, on account of the badness of my 
memory, made me suppose others in the multitude of my 
papers. Those I remarked were the draft of La Morale 
Sensitive and the extract of Les Aventures de Mylord 
Édouard. The last, I confess, made me suspect Madame 
de Luxembourg. It was La Roche, her valet de chambre, 
who had dispatched these papers to me, and I could 
think of nobody but herself to whom this fragment could 
be of consequence; but what concern could the other 
give her, any more than the rest of the missing letters, 
with which, even with evil intentions, nothing to my 
prejudice could be done, unless they were falsified? As 
for Monsieur le Maréchal, with whose real friendship for 
me, and invariable mtegrity, Î was perfectly acquainted, 
Ï never could suspect him for a moment; I could not 
even continue to suspect Madame [a Maréchale. The 
most reasonable supposition, after long veximg my mind 
in endeavouring to discover the author of the theft, 
was that which imputed it to D’Alembert, who, having 
wormed himself into the company of Madame de Luxem- 
bourg, might have found means to turn over these papers, 
and take from amongst them such manuscripts and 
letters as he might have thought proper, either for the 
purpose of endeavouring to stir up troubles and dissen- 
sions, or to appropriate those he should find useful to his 
own private purposes. Î imagined that, deceived by the 
title of La Morale Sensitive, he might have supposed it to 
be the plan of a real treatise upon materialism, with 
which he would have armed himself against me in a man- 


C 338 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


ner easy to be imagined. Certain that he would soon be 
undeceived by reading the sketch, and determined to 
quit all literary pursuits, these larcenies gave me but 
little concern. They were besides not the first the same 
hand had committed ! upon me without my having com- 
plained. In a very little time [ thought no more of the 
trick that had been played me than if nothing had hap- 
pened, and began to collect the materials that remamed 
in my hands, to be used m composing my Confessions. 

Ï had long thought that the company of the ministers, 
or at least the citizens and burgesses, of Geneva would 
remonstrate against the imfraction of the edict in the 
decree made against me. Everything remamed quiet, 
at least to all exterior appearance; for discontent was 
general, and ready, on the first opportunity, openly to 
manifest itself. My friends, or persons callmg them- 
selves such, wrote letter after letter, exhorting me to 
come and put myself at their head, assuring me of public 
reparation on the part of the Council. The fear of the 
disturbance and troubles which might be caused by my 
presence prevented me from acquiescimg in their desires, 
and, faithful to the oath I had formerly made, never to 
take the least part in any civil dissension im my native 
land, I chose rather to let the offence remain, and banish 
myself for ever from my country, than return to it by 
means which were violent and dangerous. It is true, I 
expected that the burgesses would make legal and peace- 
ful remonstrances against an mfraction im which their 
interests were deeply concerned; but no such steps were 
taken. Their leaders sought less the real redress of 

1 [ had found in his Éléments de Musique many things taken from what 
I had written for the Encyclopédie, and which were given to him several 
years before the publication of his Eléments. 1 know not what he may 
have had to do with a book entitled Dictionnaire des Beaux Arts, but I 


found in it articles transcribed word for word from mine, and this long 
before the same articles were printed in the Encyclopédie. — KR. 


LC 339 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS’ OF 


grievances than an opportunity to render themselves 
necessary. They caballed, but were silent, and suffered 
me to be bespattered by the gossips and hypocrites set 
on to render me odious in the eyes of the populace, and 
to attribute the Council’s blundering action to a zeal in 
favour of religion. 

After having vamly expected, during a whole year, that 
some one would remonstrate against an illegal proceed- 
ing, Ï at length took my own course, and, seemmg myself 
abandoned by my fellow-citizens, determined to renounce 
my ungrateful country in which I had never lived, from 
which I had not received either mheritance or services, 
and by which, in return for the honour I had endeavoured 
to do it, I saw myself so unworthily treated by unanimous 
consent, since they who should have spoken had remained 
silent. Î therefore wrote to the first syndic for that 
year — Monsieur Favre, 1f Ï remember rightly — a letter 
in which Î solemnly surrendered my freedom of the 
city, carefully observing in it, however, that decency and 
moderation from which I have never departed in those 
proud actions which, m my misfortunes, the cruelty of 
my enemies has frequently forced from me. 

This step opened the eyes of the citizens, who, feeling 
that they had neglected their own interests by abandon- 
ing my defence, took my part when it was too late. 
They had other wrongs which they jomed to mine, and 
made these the subject of several well-reasoned repre- 
sentations, which they strengthened and extended, in 
proportion as the harsh refusals of the Council, supported 
by the ministry of France, made them more clearly per- 
ceive the project formed to subjugate them. These alter- 
cations produced several pamphlets which were mde-. 
cisive, until that appeared entitled Lettres Écrites de la 
Campagne, a work written in favour of the Council, 
with infinite art, and by which the remonstrating party, 


C 340 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


reduced to silence, was crushed for a time. This produc- 
tion, a lasting monument of the rare talents of its author, 
came from the Procureur-général Tronchin, a man of 
wit and an enlightened understanding, well versed in the 
laws and government of the Republic. Siluit terra. 


[1764.] The remonstrators, recovered from their first 
overthrow, undertook to give an answer, and in time pro- 
duced one which brought them off tolerably well. But 
they all Iooked to me, as the only person capable of enter- 
ing the lists with a like adversary with hope of success. 
I confess Ï was of their opmion; and, excited by my 
former fellow-citizens, who thought it was my duty to 
aid them with my pen, as I had been the cause of their 
embarrassment, | undertook to refute the Lettres Ecrites 
de la Campagne, and parodied the title of them by that 
of Lettres Écrites de la Montagne, which I gave to mine. 
Ï completed this enterprise so secretly that, at a meeting 
J had at Thonon with the chiefs of the malcontents to 
talk of their affairs, and where they showed me a sketch 
of their answer, I said not a word of mine, which was 
quite ready, fearing obstacles might arise relative to the 
printing, should the magistrates or my enemies hear the 
least whisper of what I had done. This work was, how- 
ever, known in France before the publication; but they 
chose rather to let it appear than to suffer me to guess at 
the means by which my secret had been discovered. 
Concerning this I will state what I know, which is but 
trifing; what I have conjectured shall remain with my- 
self. 

Ï received at Motiers almost as many visits as at the 
Hermitage and Montmorency; but these, for the most 
part, were a different kmd. They who had formerly 
come to see me were people who, having taste, talents, 
and principles something similar to mine, alleged them as 


C341] 


THE (CONFESSIONS MOER 


the causes of their visits, and mtroduced subjects on 
which I could converse. At Motiers the case was dif- 
ferent, especially with the visitors who came from France. 
They were officers or other persons who had no taste 
for literature, nor had many of them read my works, al- 
though, accordmg to their own accounts, they had 
travelled thirty, forty, sixty, and even a hundred leagues 
to come and see me, and admire the illustrious man, the 
celebrated, the very celebrated, the great man, etc. For 
from that time I recerved the most base and bare-faced 
flattery, from which the esteem of those with whom I 
associated had formerly sheltered me. As but few of 
my new visitors deigned to tell me who or what they 
were, and as they had neither read nor cast their eye 
over my works, nor had their researches and mine been 
directed to the same objects, I knew not upon what 
topic to speak to them. I waited for what they had to 
say, because it was for them to know and tell me the 
purpose of their visit. Ît will naturally be imagined 
that this did not produce conversations very interesting 
to me, although they, perhaps, were so to my visitors, 
according to the mformation they might wish to acquire: 
for, as Î was without suspicion, [| answered without 
reserve to every question they thought proper to ask me, 
and they commonly went away as well informed as my- 
self of the particulars of my situation. 

Ï was, for example, visited m this manner by Monsieur 
de Feins, equerry to the Queen and captain of cavalry im 
the Queen’s regiment, who had the patience to pass 
several days at Motiers, and even to follow me on foot 
to La Ferrière, leading his horse by the bridle, without 
having with me any point of union, except our acquaint- 
ance with Mademoiselle Fel, and that we both played at 
bilboquet. Before and after Monsieur de Feins’ visit 
received another much more extraordinary. Two men 


C342] 


TAN TACOUESL ROUSSEAU 


arrived on foot, each leading a mule loaded with his 
little baggage, lodged at the mn, took upon themselves 
the care of their mules, and asked to see me. By the 
equipage of these muleteers they were taken for smug- 
glers, and the news that smugglers were come to see me 
was instantly spread. Their manner of addressing me 
sufficiently showed they were persons of another descrip- 
tion; but without bemg smugglers they might be ad- 
venturers, and this doubt kept me for some time on my 
guard. They soon removed my apprehensions. One was 
Monsieur de Montauban, who had the title of Comte de 
la Tour du Pin, gentleman of Dauphiny; the other Mon- 
sieur Dastier, of Carpentras, an old officer, who had his 
cross of St. Louis in his pocket, because he could not 
display it. These gentlemen were of pleasimg disposi- 
tion and very intelligent; their conversation was agree- 
able and interesting; their manner of travelling, so much 
to my own taste, and but little like that of French gentle- 
men, in some measure gained them my attachment, 
which imtercourse with them served to improve. Our 
acquaintance did not end with the visit; it is still kept 
up, and they have since been several times to see me, but 
not on foot — that was very well for the first time; but 
the more I have seen of these gentlemen, the less simi- 
larity have I found between their tastes and mime. I 
have not discovered their maxims to be such as I have 
ever observed, that my writings are familiar to them, or 
that there is any real sympathy between them and my- 
self, What therefore did they want of me? Why came 
they to see me with such equipage? Why remain for 
several days? Why repeat their visit so often? Why so 
desirous of having me for their host? I did not at the 
time propose to myself these questions; but they have 
sometimes occurred to me since. 

Won by their advances, my heart abandoned itself 


C 343] 


THE: CONFESSIONSHO®E 


without reserve, especially to Monsieur Dastier, with 
whose open countenance [ was more particularly pleased. 
I even corresponded with him, and when I determined to 
print the Lettres de la Montagne, I thought of addressing 
myself to him, to deceive those by whom my packet was 
waited for upon the road to Holland. He had spoken to 
me a good deal, and perhaps purposely, upon the liberty 
of the press at Avignon; he offered me his services should 
Ï have anything to print there. I took advantage of the 
offer, and sent him successively by the post my first 
sheets. After having kept these for some time, he sent 
them back to me because, said he, no bookseller dared 
to undertake them; and I was obliged to have recourse 
to Rey, taking care to send my papers one after the other, 
and not to part with those which succeeded until I was 
advised of the reception of those already sent. Before 
the work was published, I found it had been seen in the 
offices of the ministers, and D’Escherny, of Neufchâtel, 
spoke to me of a book entitled De l'Homme de la Mon- 
tagne, which D’Holbach had told him was written by me. 
I assured him, and it was true, that I never had written 
a book which bore that title. When the letters appeared 
he became furious, and accused me of falsehood, although 
Ï had simply told him the truth. By this means I was 
certain my manuscript had been read. As I could not 
doubt the fidelity of Rey, I had to give another direction 
to my conjectures, and that which seemed most rational 
was that my packets had been opened at the post-office. 

Another acquaimtance [I made much about the same 
time, but which was begun by letters, was that with 
Monsieur Laliaud, of Nîmes, who wrote to me from Paris, 
begging I would send him a silhouette profile of myself; 
he said he was in want of it for my bust m marble, which 
Le Moine was making for him to be placed im his library. 
If this was a pretence imvented to deceive, it fully suc- 


C 344] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


ceeded. I imagined that a man who wished to have my 
bust in marble im his library had his head full of my 
works, consequently of my principles, and that he loved 
me because his mind was in unison with mine. It was 
natural that this idea should seduce me. I have since 
seen Monsieur Laliaud. I found him very ready to 


render me many triflmg services, and to concern himself 


in my little affairs; but I have my doubts of his having, 
among the few books he ever read, taken up any one of 
those I have written. I do not know that he has a library, 
or that such a thing is of any use to him; and for the bust, 
he has only a bad figure in plaster, by Le Moine, from 
which he has caused to be engraved a hideous portrait 
that bears my name, as if it bore some resemblance to me. 

The only Frenchman who seemed to come to see me on 
account of my sentiments and his taste for my works was 
a young officer of the regiment of Limousin, named Mon- 
sieur Séguier de Saint-Brisson. He made a figure in Paris, 
where he still perhaps distmguishes himself by his pleasmg 
talents and wit. He came once to Montmorency in the 
winter which preceded my catastrophe. I was pleased 
with his vivacity. He afterwards wrote to me at Motiers; 
and whether he wished to flatter me, or that his head was 
turned by Emile, he informed me he was about to quit 
the service in order to live mdependently, and was learn- 
ing the trade of a house-carpenter. He had an elder 
brother, a captain in the same regiment, the favourite of 
the mother, who, a devotee to excess, and directed by I 
know not what Abbé Tartufe, did not treat the younger 


: son well, accusing him of irreligion, and, what was still 
_worse, of the unpardonable crime of bemg connected 


| 
| 


with me. These were the grievances on account of which 
he was determined to break with his mother, and adopt 
the manner of life of which I have just spoken, all to play 
the part of the young Emile. 


C 345] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


Alarmed at this petulance, Ï immediately wrote to 
him, endeavouring to make him change his resolution, 
and my exhortations were as strong as [ could make 
them. They had their effect. He returned to his duty 
to his mother, and withdrew the resignation he had given 
to his colonel, who had been prudent enough to make no 
use of it, that the young man might have time to reflect 
upon what he had done. Saimt-Brisson, cured of these 
follies, was guilty of another less alarming, but, to me, 
hardly less disagreeable than the rest —he became an 
author. He successively published two or three pam- 
phlets, which announced a man not devoid of talents, but 
Ï have not to reproach myself with having encouraged 
him by my praises to continue to write. 

Some time afterwards he came to see me, and we made 
together a pilgrimage to the Ile de Saint-Pierre. Dur- 
ing this journey I found him different from what he had 
been at Montmorency. He was im his manner something 
affected, which at first did not much disgust me, al- 
though I have since thought of it to his disadvantage. 
He once visited me at the Hôtel de Saint-Simon, as I 
passed through Paris on my way to England. I learned 
there what he had not told me, that he lived in the 
world of fashion, and often saw Madame de Luxembourg. 
Whilst I was at Tyre, I never heard from him, nor did he 
so much as make inquiry after me, by means of his rela- 
tion Mademoiselle Séguier, my neighbour — a lady who 
never seemed favourably disposed towards me. In a 
word, the infatuation of Monsieur de Saint-Brisson ended 
suddenly, like the connection of Monsieur de Feins: but 
this man owed me nothing, and the former was under 
obligations to me, unless the follies I prevented him from 
committing were nothing more than affectation, which 
might very possibly be the case. 

I had visits from Geneva also. The Delucs, father and 


C 346] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


son, successively chose me for their attendant in sick- 
ness. The father was taken 1ll on the road, the son was 
already sick when he left Geneva; they both came to 
recover at my house. Ministers, relations, hypocrites, 
- and persons of every description came from Geneva and 
Switzerland, not like those from France, to laugh at and 
admire me, but to rebuke and catechise me. The only 
person amongst them who gave me pleasure was Moul- 
tou, who passed with me three or four days, and whom 
I wished to retain much longer; the most persevering of 
all, the most obstinate, and who conquered me by impor- 
tunity, was a Monsieur d’Ivernoïs, a merchant of Geneva, 
a French refugee, and related to the Procureur-général of 
Neufchâtel. This Monsieur d’Ivernois came from Ge- 
neva to Motiers twice a year on purpose to see me, re- 
mained with me several days together from morning to 
night, accompanied me in my walks, brought me a 
thousand little presents, insinuated himself against my 
will into my confidence, and intermeddled in all my 
affairs, notwithstanding there was not between him and 
myself the least similarity of ideas, imclination, senti- 
ment, or knowledge. I do not believe he ever read a 
book of any kimd throughout, or that he knows upon 
what subjects mine are written. When I began to her- 
borise, he followed me in my botanical rambles, without 
taste for that amusement, or having anythmg to say to 
me, or Ï to him. He had the patience to pass with me 
three days in a tavern at Goumoins, whence, by wearying 
him, and making him feel how much he wearied me, I 
was in hopes of driving him. I could not, however, shake 
his mcredible perseverance, nor by any means discover 
the motive of it. 

Amongst these connections, which were neither made 
nor continued without constraint, | must not omit the 
only one that was agreeable to me, and in which my heart 


C 347 ] 


THE) CONFESSTONSRUE 


was really interested: that which [ contracted with a 
young Hungarian who came to live at Neufchâtel, and 
from that place to Motiers, a few months after I had 
taken up my residence there. He was called by the 
people of the country the Baron de Sauttern, by which 
name he had been recommended from Zurich. He was 
tall, well made, had an agreeable countenance, and mild 
and social qualities. He told every one, and gave me 
also to understand, that he came to Neufchâtel for no 
other purpose than that of forming his youth to virtue, 
by his imtercourse with me. His physiognomy, manner, 
and behaviour seemed well suited to his conversation; 
and I should have thought I failed in one of the greatest 
duties had I turned my back upon a young man in whom 
Ï perceived nothing but what was amiable, and who 
sought my acquaintance from so respectable a motive. 
My heart knows not how to show confidence by halves. 
He soon acquired my friendship and all my trust, and we 
were presently inseparable. He accompanied me in all 
my walks, and became fond of them. I took him to my 
Lord Marshal, who received him with the utmost kind- 
ness. As he was yet unable to express himself:in French, 
he spoke and wrote to me in Latin. Î answered im 
French, and this mingling of the two languages did not. 
make our conversations either less smooth or lively im 
all respects. He spoke of his family, of his affairs, of his 
adventures, and of the Court of Vienna, with the domestic 
details of which he seemed well acquainted. In fine, 
during two years which we passed in the greatest inti- 
macy, Î found in him a consistent mildness of character, 
manners not only polite but elegant, great neatness of 
person, an extreme decency in his conversation — in a 
word, all the marks of a well-bred man, which rendered 
him, in my eyes, too estimable not to make him dear 


to me. 
LC 348 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


At the time we were upon the most mtimate and 
friendly terms, D’Ivernois wrote to me from Geneva, 
putting me upon my guard against the young Hungarian 
who had taken up his residence in my neighbourhood, tell- 
ing me he had been assured that he was a spy whom the 
ministry of France had appointed to observe me. This 
information was of a nature to alarm me the more, as 
everybody about me advised me to keep upon my guard, 
saying that [I was watched, and that it was sought to 
entice me into French territory in order to rum me. 

To shut the mouths, once for all, of these foolish ad- 
visers, Î proposed to Sauttern, without giving him the 
_[Jeast intimation of the information [I had received, a 
journey on foot to Pontarlier, to which he consented. 
As soon as we had arrived at Pontarlier, Ï put the letter 
from D’Ivernois into his hands, and, after grvmg him an 
ardent embrace, said: “Sauttern has no need of a proof 
of my confidence in him; but it is necessary I should 
prove to the public that I know in whom to place it.’ 
This embrace was accompanied with a pleasure which 
persecutors can neither feel themselves, nor take away 
from the oppressed. 

I will never believe that Sauttern was a spy, nor that 
he betrayed me; but I was deceived by him. When I 
opened to him my heart without reserve, he was so un- 
feeling as to keep his own constantly closed, and abused 
me by lies. He invented [ know not what kind of story, 
to prove to me that his presence was necessary in his 
own country. Î exhorted him to return to it as soon as 
possible. He set off, and when [I thought he was im 
Hungary, I learned that he was at Strasbourg. This 
was not the first time he had been there. He had caused 
some disorder in a household; and the husband, knowing 
Ï received him in my house, wrote to me. I had used 
every effort to bring the young woman back to the paths 


[ 340 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


of virtue, and Sauttern to his duty. When I thought 
that they were perfectly detached from each other, they 
renewed their acquaintance, and the husband even had 
the complaisance again to receive the young man at his 
house. From that moment [ had nothing more to say. 
I found that the pretended Baron had imposed upon me 
by a great number of lies. His name was not Sauttern, 
but Sauttersheim. With respect to the title of Baron, 
given him m Switzerland, I could not reproach him with 
the impropriety, because he had never taken it; but I 
have not a doubt of his being a gentleman, and my Lord 
Marshal, who knew mankind, and had been im Hungary, 
always considered and treated him as such. 

He had no sooner gone than the girl at the inn where 
he boarded, at Motiers, declared herself with child by 
him. She was such a foul slut, and Sauttern, generally 
esteemed in the country for his conduct and purity of 
morals, piqued himself so much upon cleanliness, that 
everybody was shocked at this impudent pretension. 
The most pleasing women of the country, who had vainly 
displayed to him their charms, were furious; [ myself was 
almost choked with imdignation. Î used every effort to 
get the tongue of this impudent woman stopped, offering 
to pay all expenses, and to give security for Sauttersherm. 
Ï wrote to him m the fullest persuasion, not only that this 
pregnancy could not relate to him, but that it was feigned, 
and the whole a machination of his enemies and mine. 
I wished him to return and confound the strumpet, and 
those who set her on. The pusillanimity of his answer 
surprised me. He wrote to the pastor of the parish to 
which the creature belonged, and endeavoured to stifle 
the matter. Perceiving this, [ concerned myself no more 
about it; but I was astonished that a man who could 
stoop so low should have been sufficiently master of him- 
self to deceive me by his reserve in the closest familiarity. 


CL 350] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


From Strasbourg, Sauttersheim went to seek his for- 
tune in Paris, and found there nothing but misery. He 
wrote to me, acknowledging his error. My compassion 
was excited by the recollection of our former friendship, 
and I sent him a sum of money. The year following, as 
Ï passed through Paris, Ï saw him much im the same 
situation, but he was the intimate friend of Monsieur de 
. Laliaud, and [I could not learn by what means he had 
formed this acquaintance, or whether it was recent or of 
long standing. Two years afterwards Sauttersheim re- 
turned to Strasbourg, whence he wrote to me, and where 
he died. This, in a few words, is the history of our con- 
. nection, and what I know of his adventures; but, while 
Ï mourn the fate of this unhappy young man, I still, and 
ever shall, believe that he sprang from a good family, and 
that the mmpropriety of his conduct was the effect of the 
situations imto which he was thrown. 

Such were the connections and acquaintance [I ac- 
quired at Motiers. How many of these would have been 
necessary to compensate the cruel losses I suffered at the 
same time! 

The first of these was that of Monsieur de Luxem- 
bourg, who, after having long been tormented by the 
physicians, at length became their victim, by being 
treated for the gout, which they would not acknowledge 
him to have, as for a disorder they could cure. 

According to what La Roche, the confidential servant 
of Madame la Maréchale, wrote to me relative to what 
had happened, it is by this cruel and memorable example 
that the miseries of greatness are to be deplored. 

The loss of this good nobleman affected me the more 
as he was the only real friend I had in France, and the 
sweetness of his character was such as to make me quite 
forget his rank, and attach myself to him as my equal. 
Our connection was not broken off on account of my 


C351] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


retreat;: he continued to write to me as usual. [I never- 
theless thought that [ perceived that absence, or my 
misfortune, had cooled his affection for me. It is difhcult 
for a courtier to preserve the same attachment to a person 
whom he knows to be in disgrace with those in power. I 
moreover suspected that the great ascendancy Madame 
de Luxembourg had over his mind had been unfavourable 
to me, and that she had taken advantage of our separa- 
tion to injure me in his esteem. For her part, notwith- 
standing a few affected marks of regard, which became 
less frequent as time went on, she took daïly less trouble 
to conceal the change im her friendship. She wrote to me 
four or five times while I was in Switzerland, after which 
she never wrote to me again, and nothing but my pre- 
conceived ideas, confidence, and blindness could have 
prevented my discovering in her something more than a 
coolness towards me. 

Guy, the bookseller, partner with Duchesne, who, after 
I had departed, frequently went to the Hôtel de Luxem- 
bourg, wrote to me that my name was in the will of 
Monsieur le Maréchal. There was nothing im this either 
mcredible or extraordinary, on which account I had no 
doubt of the truth of the imformation. I deliberated 
within myself as to the way in which I should regard this 
legacy. Everythmg well considered, I determined to 
accept it, whatever it might be, and to do that honour to 
the memory of an honest man who, in a rank in which 
friendship is seldom found, had had a real friendship for 
me. [I had not this duty to fulfil. I heard no more of 
this legacy, whether it were true or false; and in truth I 
should have felt some pain in offending against one of the 
great maxims of my system of morality, in profiting by 
anything at the death of a person whom I had once held 
dear. Durmg the last 1llness of our friend Mussard, 
Lenieps proposed to me to take advantage of the grateful 


C 352] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


sense he expressed for our attentions to insinuate to him 
dispositions in our favour. “Ah! my dear Lenieps,’ saïd 
I, ‘let us not pollute by interested ideas the sad but 
sacred duties we discharge towards our dying friend. I 
hope my name will never be found in the testament of 
any person, at least not im that of a friend.” Ît was about 
this time that my Lord Marshal spoke to me of his, of 
what he mtended to do in it for me, and that Î made him 
the answer of which I have spoken in the First Part. 

My second loss, still more afflicting and irreparable, 
was that of the best of women and of mothers, who, 
already weighed down with years, and overburdened with 
infirmities and misery, quitted this vale of tears for the 
abode of the blessed, where the pleasmg remembrance 
of the good we have done here below is our eternal reward. 
Go, gentle and beneficent shade, to those of Fénelon, 
Bernex, Catinat, and others who, in a more humble state, 
have, like them, opened their hearts to true charity; go 
and taste of the fruit of your own benevolence, and 
prepare for your child the place he hopes to fill by your 
side, happy im your misfortunes that Heaven, im putting 
a period to them, has spared you the cruel spectacle of 
his! Fearing lest I should fill her heart with sorrow by 
the recital of my first disasters, [ had not written to her 
since my arrival im Switzerland, but [ wrote to Monsieur 
de Conzié to inquire after her situation, and it was from 
him I learned she had ceased to alleviate the sufferings of 
the afflicted, and that her own were at an end. [ myself 
shall not suffer long; but if I thought I should not see 
her again in the life to come, my feeble imagimation 
would less delight in the idea of the perfect happiness 
which I there hope to enjoy. 

My third and last loss, for since that time I have not 
had a friend to lose, was that of my Lord Marshal. He 
did not die, but, tired of serving the ungrateful, he left 


C 353 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


Neufchâtel, and I have never seen him since. He still 
lives, and will, Ï hope, survive me: he is alive, and, 
thanks to him, all my attachments on earth are not 
destroyed. There is one man still worthy of my friend- 
ship; for the real value of this consists more in what we 
feel than in that which we mspire; but I have lost the 
pleasure I enjoyed im his, and can only rank him in the 
number of those whom I yet love, but with whom I am 
no longer connected. He went to England to receive the 
pardon of the King, and acquire the possession of his 
property which formerly had been confiscated. We did 
not separate without an intention of again being united, 
the idea of which seemed to give him as much pleasure as 
Ï received from it. He determined to reside at his château 
of Keith Hall, near Aberdeen, and I was to join him there. 
But this project was too flattering to give me any hope of 
its success. He did not remain in Scotland. The affec- 
tionate solicitations of the King of Prussia induced him 
to return to Berlin, and the reason of my not going to him 
there will presently appear. 

Before his departure, foreseemg the storm which my 
enemies began to raise against me, he of his own accord 
sent me letters of naturalisation, which seemed to be a 
certain means of preventing me from being driven from 
the country. The community of Couvet, in the Val-de- 
Travers, followed the example of the Governor, and gave 
me letters of communion, gratis, as they were the first. 
Thus, m every respect, become a citizen, Î was sheltered 
from legal expulsion, even by the prince; but it has 
never been by legitimate means that the man who, of all 
others, has ever shown the greatest respect for the laws 
has been persecuted. 

I do not think I ought to enumerate amongst the 
number of my losses at this time that of the Abbé de 
Mably. Having lived some time at the house of his 


C354] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


brother, I had been acquainted with the ABbE, but not 
very intimately, and I have reason to believe that the 
nature of his sentiments with respect to me changed after 
J had acquired a greater celebrity than he enjoyed. But 
the first time [ discovered his ill-will was immediately 
after the publication of the Lettres de la Montagne. A 
letter attributed to him, addressed to Madame Saladin, 
was handed about in Geneva, im which he spoke of this 
work as the seditious clamours of a furious demagogue. 
The esteem I had for the Abbé de Mably, and my great 
opinion of his understanding, did not permit me to believe 
for a moment this extravagant letter was written by him. 
Ï acted im this business with my usual candour. I sent 
him a copy of the letter, mforming him that he was said 
to be the author of it. He returned me no answer. This 
silence astonished me, but what was my surprise when 
by a communication from Madame de Chenonceaux I 
learned that the ABbBE was really the author of the letter, 
and found himself greatly embarrassed by mine? For, 
even supposing that what he stated was true, how could 
he justify so public an attack, wantonly made, without 
obligation or necessity, for the sole purpose of over- 
wheÏlming, m the midst of his greatest misfortunes, a 
man to whom he had shown himself a well-wisher, and 
who had not done anything that could excite his enmity? 
In a short time afterwards appeared the Dialogues de 
Pbocion, im which Fpercerved nothmg but a compilation, 
without shame or restraint, from my writimgs. In reading 
this book I perceived the author had made up his mind 
with regard to me, and that m future I must number him 
among my most bitter enemies. I do not believe he has 
ever pardoned me for Le Contrat Social, far superior 
to his abilities, or La Paix Perpétuelle, and I am of 
opinion that the desire he expressed that I should make 
an extract from the Abbé de Saint-Pierre proceeded from 


C 355] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


a supposition that [ should not acquit myself of it 
so well. 

The further I advance m my narrative the less order I 
feel myself capable of observing. The agitation of the 
rest of my life has deranged in my ideas the succession of 
events. These are too numerous, confused, and dis- 
agreeable to be recited in due order. The only strong 
impression they have left upon my mind is that of the 
horrid mystery by which the cause of them 1s concealed, 
and of the deplorable state to which they have reduced 
me. My narrative must in future be irregular, and 
according to the events which may recur to my recollec- 
tion. Î remember that, about the time to which I refer, 
full of the idea of my Confessions, [ very imprudently 
spoke of them to everybody, never imagining it could be 
the wish or interest, or within the power, of any person 
whatsoever to throw an obstacle in the way of this 
undertakimg; and had I suspected it, even this would not 
have rendered me more discreet, as from the nature of 
my disposition it is totally rmpossible for me to conceal 
either my thoughts or feelings. The knowledge of this 
enterprise was, as far as Î can Judge, the true cause of the 
storm that was raised to drive me from Switzerland, and 
deliver me mto the hands of those by whom I might be 
prevented from executing it. 

J had another project in contemplation which was not 
Iooked upon with a more favourable eye by those who 
were afraid of the first; this was a general edition of my 
works. I thought this edition of them necessary to ascer- 
tain what books, amongst those bearmg my name, were 
really written by me, and to furnish the public with the 
means of distinguishing them from the writings falsely 
attributed to me by my enemies, to bring upon me dis- 
honour and contempt. This was, besides, a simple and 
an honourable means of insuring to myself a livelihood, 


CL 356 ] 


TEAN=JACQOQUES ROUSSEAU 


and the only one that remained to me. As I had re- 
nounced the profession of an author, my memoirs not 
being of a nature to appear durmg my lifetime, and as : 
I no longer gained a sou in any other manner, and con- 
stantly lived at a certain expense, [ saw the end of my 
resources in that of the produce of the [last things I 
had written. This reason had induced me to hasten the 
finishing of my Dictionnaire de Musique, which still was 
incomplete. I had received for it a hundred louis, and 
a life annuity of a hundred écus; but a hundred louis 
could not last long in the hands of a man who annually 
expended upwards of sixty, and a hundred écus a year 
was but a trifimg sum to one upon whom idle and beg- 
garly visitors contimually alighted like a swarm of flies. 

A company of merchants from Neufchâtel came 
forward to undertake my general edition, and a printer 
or bookseller named Reguillat, from Lyons, thrust him- 
self, I know not by what means, amongst them to direct 
it. The agreement was made upon reasonable terms, 
and sufficient to accomplish my object. I had, in print 
and manuscript, matter for quarto six volumes. Î more- 
over agreed to supervise the edition. The merchants 
were, on their part, to pay me a thousand écus down, 
and to assign me an annuity of sixteen hundred French 
livres for life. 


C1765.] The agreement was concluded, but not signed, 
when the Lettres EÉcrites de la Montagne appeared. The 
terrible explosion caused by this infernal work, and its 
abominable author, terrified the company, and the under- 
taking was at an end. Ï would compare the effect of 
this last production to that of La Lettre sur la Musique 
Française, had not that letter, while it brought upon me 
hatred and exposed me to danger, acquired me never- 
theless respect and esteem. But, after the appearance 


CL 357] 


THEMCONFESSIONSARE 


of the last work, it was matter of astonishment at Geneva 
and Versailles that such a monster as I should be suffered 
to exist. The Petit Conseil, excited by the French 
Resident and directed by the Procureur-Général, made 
a declaration against my work, by which, in the most 
atrocious terms, it was declared unworthy of being 
burned by the hands of the hangman, adding, with an 
address which bordered on the burlesque, that there was 
no possibility of answering, or even mentioning it, with- 
out dishonour. I would here transcribe if I could this 
curious piece, but unfortunately I have it not by me, and 
cannot recall to mind a word of it. I ardently wish 
that some one of my readers, animated by the zeal of 
truth and equity, would read over the Lettres Écrites de la 
Montagne. Such will, [ dare hope, feel conscious of the 
stoical moderation which reigns throughout that work, 
after all the cruel outrages with which the author was 
loaded. But, unable to answer the abuse, because no 
part of it could be called by that name, nor to the rea- 
sons, because these were unanswerable, my enemies 
pretended to appear too angry to reply; and it is true 
that, if they took the mvincible arguments it contains 
for abuse, they must have felt themselves roughly 
treated. 

The remonstrating party, far from complaining of 
this odious declaration, followed the track that it marked 
out, and, instead of making a trophy of the Lettres de la 
Montagne, which they veiled to make them serve as a 
shield, were pusillanimous enough not to do justice or 
honour to that work, written to defend them, and at 
their own solicitation. They did not either cite or men- 
tion it, though they tacitly drew from thence all their 
arguments, and though the exactitude with which they 
followed the advice with which it concludes has been 
the sole cause of their safety and triumph. They had 


CL 358 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


imposed on me this duty: I had fulfilled it, and unto 
the end had served their cause and the country. I 
begged of them to abandon me, and, in their quarrels, 
to think of nobody but themselves. They took me at 
_ my word, and ÎI concerned myself no more about their 
_affarrs, further than constantly to exhort them to peace, 
not doubting, should they continue to be obstinate, of 
their being crushed by France. This, however, did not 
happen; [ know the reason why it did not, but this is 
not the place to set it forth. 

The effect produced at Neufchâtel by the lentes de la 
Montagne was at first very mild. I sent a copy of them 
to Monsieur de Montmollin, who received it favourably, 
and read it without making any objection. He was ill 
as well as myself; as soon as he recovered he came in 
a friendly manner to me, and conversed on general sub- 
jects. À rumour was, however, beginnimg; the book was 
burned [ know not where.! From Geneva, Berne, and 
perhaps from Versailles, the effervescence quickly passed 
to Neufchâtel, and especially to the Val-de-Travers, 
where, even before the Classe had taken any apparent 
steps, an attempt had been secretly made to stir up the 
people. [I ought, I dare assert, to have been beloved by 
the people of that country, as of all others in which I 
have lived, giving alms in abundance, not leaving about 
me an indigent person without assistance, never refusing 
to do any service in my power, and, which was con- 
sistent with justice, makmg myself perhaps too familiar 
with everybody, and avoiding, as far as it was possible, 
all distinction which might excite jealousy. This, how- 
ever, did not prevent the populace, secretly stirred up 
against me by I know not whom, from being by degrees 
irritated against me, even to fury, nor from publicly 


1 It was burned at Paris, together with Voltaire’s Dictionnaire Pbi- 
losopbique, which was included in the same decree, dated March 19, 1765. 


C359] 


THE CONFESSIONS 


insulting me, not only in the country and upon the road, 
but in the streets of the town. Those to whom I had 
rendered the greatest services became most embittered 
against me, and even people who still continued to receive 
my benefactions, not daring to appear, excited others, 
and seemed to wish thus to be revenged on me for their 
humiliation in putting themselves under obligations to 
me. Montmollin seemed to pay no attention to what 
was passing, and did not yet come forward; but, as the 
time of communion approached, he came to advise me 
not to present myself on the occasion, assuring me, how- 
ever, that he was not my enemy, and that he would 
leave me undisturbed. I found this compliment whim- 
sical enough; it brought to my recollection the letter 
from Madame de Boufflers, and I could not conceive to 
whom it could be a matter of such importance whether 
Ï communicated or not. Considermg this condescension 
on my part as an act of cowardice, and, moreover, being 
unwillmg to give to the people a new pretence under 
which they might charge me with impiety, I refused the 
request of the minister, and he went away dissatisfied, 
giving me to understand that [I should repent of my 
resolve. 

He could not of his own authority forbid me the. 
communion; that of the Consistory, by which [ had 
been admitted to it, was necessary, and as long as there 
was no objection from the Consistory Î might present 
myself confidently without the fear of being refused. 
Montmollm procured from the Classe a commission to 
summon me to the Consistory, there to give an account 
of my belief, and to excommunicate me should I refuse 
to comply. This excommunication could not be pronounced 
without the aid of the Consistory also, and a majority 
of the votes. But the peasants who, under the appellation 
of elders, composed this assembly, presided over and — 


C 360 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


‘as may be supposed — governed by their minister, might 
naturally be expected to adopt his opinion, especially 
in matters of theology, which they still less understood 
than he did. I was therefore cited, and I resolvedto appear. 

What a happy circumstance and triumph would this 

‘have been to me could I have spoken, and had I, if I 

may say so, had my pen in my mouth! With what 

‘superiority, with what facility even, should I have over- 

thrown this poor minister in the midst of his six peasants! 

| The thirst after power having made the Protestant clergy 
| forget all the principles of the Reformation, all I had to 
do to recall these to their recollection and reduce them 
to silence was to comment upon my first Lettres de la 
| Montagne, respecting which they had the folly to censure 
me. My text was ready, and I had only to enlarge on 
it, and my adversary was confounded.. I should not 
have been weak enough to remain on the defensive; it 
was easy to me to become an assailant without his even 
perceiving it, or being able to shelter himself from my 
attack. The contemptible priests of the Classe, equally 
careless and ignorant, had of themselves placed me in 
the most favourable situation I could desire to crush 
them at pleasure. But what of this? It was necessary 
that I should speak — speak without hesitation — and 
find ideas, turns of expression, and words at the right 
moment, preserving a presence of mind, and keeping 
myself collected, without once sufferimg even a momen- 
tary confusion. For what could I hope, feeling, as I did, 
my want of aptitude to express myself with ease? I had 
been reduced to the most mortifying silence at Geneva, 
before an assembly which was favourable to me, and 
 predetermined to approve of everything [ should say. 
Here, on the contrary, I had to do with a caviller who, 
substituting cunning for knowledge, would spread for 
me a hundred snares before I could perceive one of them, 


C361] 





THEY CONFESSIONSHOR 


and was fully resolved to catch me im an error, let the 
consequence be what it would. The more Î examined 
the situation m which I stood, the greater danger Î per- 
ceived myself exposed to, and, feeling the impossibility 
of success, [I thought of another expedient. Î meditated 
a discourse which [ intended to pronounce before the 
Consistory, rejecting their authority, and exempting my- 
self from the need of answering. The thing was easy. 
Î wrote the discourse and began to learn it by heart, 
with an mconceivable ardour. Thérèse laughed at hear- 
ing me mutter and incessantly repeat the same phrases, 
while endeavouring to cram them into my head. I hoped 
at length that I could remember what I had written. 
I knew that the Châtelain, as an officer attached to the 
service of the Prince, would be present at the Consistory, 
and that, notwithstanding the manœuvres and bottles of 
Montmollin, most of the elders were well disposed towards 
me. Ï had moreover in my favour reason, truth, and 
justice, with the protection of the King, the authority 
of the Council of State, and the good wishes of every 
real patriot, to whom the establishment of this imquisi- 
tion was threatenmg. In fine, everything contributed to 
encourage me. 

On the eve of the day appointed I had my discourse 
by rote, and recited it without missing a word. I had 
it in my head all night; in the mornmg I had forgotten 
it. Î hesitated at every word, thought myself before the 
illustrious assembly, became confused, stammered, and 
lost my presence of mmd. In fine, when the time to make 
my appearance was almost at hand my courage to tally 
failed me. [ remamed at home and wrote tothe Consistory, 
hastily stating my reasons, and pleaded my disorder, 
which really, im the state in which I then was, would 
scarcely have permitted me to stay out the whole sitting. 

The minister, embarrassed by my letter, adjourned 


C 362 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


the business to a future session. In the interval he, of 
himself and by his creatures, made a thousand efforts 
to seduce those elders who, following the dictates of 
their own consciences rather than those they received 
from him, did not vote according to his wishes or those 
of the Classe. Whatever power arguments drawn from 
his cellar might have over people of this kind, he could 
not gain one of them beyond the two or three who were 
already devoted to his will, and who were called his 
âmes damnées. The officer of the Prince and Colonel 
de Pury, who in this affair acted with great zeal, kept 
the rest to their duty, and when Montmollin wished to 
proceed to excommunication, his Consistory, by a ma- 
jority of voices, flatly refused to authorise him to do it. 
Thus reduced to the last expedient, that of stirring up 
the people against me, he, his colleagues, and other per- 
sons set about it openly, and were so successful that, 
notwithstanding the emphatic and frequent rescripts of 
the King and the orders of the Council of State, I was 
at length obliged to quit the country, that Ï might not 
expose the officer of the Prince to be himself assassinated 
while he protected me. 

My recollection of the whole of this affair is so con- 
fused that it is impossible for me to reduce to order or 
connect the circumstances that recur to me: I can only 
relate them in a fragmentary way, as they present them- 
selves to my mind. Î remember a kind of negotiation 
that had been entered into with the Classe, in which 
Montmollim was the mediator. He feigned to believe 
that it was feared I should by my writings disturb the 
peace of the country, im which case my hberty of writing 
would be attacked. He had given me to understand that 
if Ï consented to lay down my pen what was past would 
be overlooked. I had already entered into this engage- 
ment with myself, and did not hesitate in doing it with 


C 363 ] 


THE 2CONFESSTONSMOR 


the Classe, but conditionally, and solely in matters of 
religion. He found means to have a duplicate of this 
agreement, upon some change necessary to be made m 
it; the condition having been rejected by the Classe, I 
demanded back the writing, which was returned to me; 
but he kept the duplicate, pretending it was lost. After 
this the people, openly excited by the ministers, laughed 
at the rescripts of the King and the orders of the Council 
of State, and shook off all restraimt. Î was declaimed 
against from the pulpit, called Antichrist, and pursued 
in the country like a mad wolf. My Armenian dress 
discovered me to the populace; of this I felt the cruel 
inconvenience, but to quit it in such circumstances ap- 
peared to me an act of cowardice. I could not prevail 
upon myself to do it, and I quietly walked through the 
country with my caftan and furred bonnet in the midst 
of the hootings of the dregs of the people, and sometimes 
through a shower of stones. Several times, as Î passed 
before houses, I heard the residents call out, “Bring me 
my gun, that Î may fire at him.” As I did not on this 
account hasten my pace my calmness increased their 
fury, but they never went farther than threats, at least 
as respects fire-arms. 

During this fermentation [ received from two ar- 
cumstances the most sensible pleasure. The first was 
my having it in my power to prove my gratitude by 
means of my Lord Marshal. The honest folk amongst 
the imhabitants of Neufchâtel, full of mdignation at the 
treatment Î received and the manœuvres of which [ was 
the victim, held the ministers in execration, clearly per- 
ceiving that they obeyed a foreign impulse, and were 
the satellites of people who, im making them act, kept 
themselves concealed; they moreover feared lest my 
example would have dangerous consequences, and be” 
made a precedent for the establishing of a real inquisi- 


C 364] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


tion. The magistrates, and especially Monsieur Meuron, 
who had succeeded Monsieur d’Ivernois in the office of 
Procureur-Général, made every effort to defend me. 
Colonel de Pury, although a private individual, did 
more, and succeeded better. It was he who found 
means to make Montmollin submit in his Consistory, 
by keeping the elders to their duty. He had credit, and 
employed it to his utmost to stop the sedition, but he 
had nothmg more than the authority of the laws and 
the aïd of justice and reason to oppose to that of money 
and wine: the combat was unequal, and m this pont 
Montmollin was triumphant. However, thankful for his 
zeal and services, IL wished to have it in my power to 
make him a return of good offices, and in some measure 
discharge my obligations to him. I knew he was very 
desirous of being named a Counsellor of State, but, 
having displeased the Court by his conduct in the affair 
of the minister Petitpierre, he was in disgrace with the 
Prince and Governor. Î ventured, however, to write to 
the Lord Marshal im his favour; [ went so far as even 
to mention the employment of which he was desirous, 
and my application was so well recerved that, contrary 
to general expectation, it was instantly conferred upon 
him by the King. In this manner, fate, which has con- 
stantly placed me at one and the same time too high 
and too low, contmued to toss me from one extreme to 
another, and, whilst the populace pelted me with mud, 
I was able to create a Counsellor of State. 

The other very pleasmg circumstance was a visit that 
I received from Madame de Verdelin, with her daughter, 
with whom she had been at the baths of Bourbonne, 
whence they came as far as Motiers and stayed with me 
two or three days. By her attention and services she 
had at length conquered my long repugnancy; and my 
heart, won by her endearing manner, made her a return 


L 365 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


of all the friendship of which she had long given me 
proofs. This journey made me extremely sensible of 
her kindness, for my situation at the time rendered the 
consolations of friendship highly necessary to support me 
under my suffermgs. Î was afraid lest she would be too 
much affected by the insults that [ received from the 
populace, and could have wished to conceal them from 
her, that her feelings might not be hurt; but this was 
impossible; and, although her presence was some check 
upon the insolent populace in our walks, she saw suffi- 
cient to enable her to judge of what passed at other times. 
It was, imdeed, during her short residence at Motiers 
that I was first attacked in my own house. One morn- 
ing her chambermaid found my window blocked up 
with stones, which had been thrown at it during the 
night. A very heavy bench, placed in the street by the 
side of the entrance and strongly fastened down, was 
taken up and reared against the door in such a manner 
as — had it not been perceived from the window — to 
have knocked down the first person who should have 
opened the door to go out. Madame de Verdelin was 
acquainted with everything that passed, for, besides 
what she herself was witness to, her confidential servant 
went imto many houses im the village, spoke to every- 
body, and was seen in conversation with Montmollin 
himself. She did not, however, seem to pay the least 
attention to that which happened to me, nor ever men- 
tioned Montmollin nor any other person, and answered 
im few words to what [ sometimes said to her respecting 
him. Seeming to be fully persuaded that a residence in 
England would be more suitable to me than elsewhere, 
she frequently spoke of Mr. Hume, who was then m 
Paris, of his friendship for me, and the desire he had of 
being of service to me in his own country. It is time I 
should say something of Mr. Hume. 


C 366 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


He had acquired a great reputation in France, espe- 
cially amongst the Encyclopædists, by his essays on 
commerce and politics, and in the last place by his his- 
tory of the House of Stuart, the only one of his writings 
of which I had read a part, in the translation of the ABbE 
Prévost. For want of being acquainted with his other 
works Î was persuaded, according to what I heard of 
him, that Mr. Hume joined a very republican mind to 
the English paradoxes im favour of luxury. Holding this 
opinion, Î considered his whole apology of Charles I as a 
prodigy of impartiality, and I had as great an idea of his 
virtue as of his genius. The desire of being acquainted 
with this distinguished man, and of obtaining his friend- 
ship, had greatly strengthened the mclination I felt to go 
to England, mduced by the solicitations of Madame de 
Boufflers, the intimate friend of Mr. Hume. After my 
arrival in Switzerland I received from him, by means of 
this lady, a letter extremely flattering, m which, to the 
highest encomiums on my genius, he subjoined a press- 
ing mvitation to go to England, and the offer of all his 
interest, and that of his friends, to make my residence 
there agreeable. I found m the country to which I had 
retired my Lord Marshal, the countryman and friend of 
Hume, who confirmed my good opinion of him, and from 
whom I learned a literary anecdote, which had made a 
great impression on his lordship, and had the same effect 
on me. Wallace, who had written against Hume upon 
the subject of the population of the ancients, was absent 
whilst his work was in the press. Hume took upon him- 
self to examine the proofs, and to superintend the publi- 
cation. This manner of acting was according to my own 
way of thinking. In the same way I had sold at six sous 
apiece copies of a song written agaimst myself. I was 
therefore strongly prejudiced in favour of Hume, when 
Madame de Verdelin came and spoke warmly of the 


C 367] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


friendship he professed for me, and his anxiety to do me 
the honours of England — such was her expression. She 
pressed me a good deal to take advantage of this zeal 
and to write to Mr. Hume. As I had not naturally any 
liking for England, and did not intend to go there until 
the last extremity, [ refused to write or make any prom- 
ise: but I left her at liberty to do whatever she should 
think necessary to keep Mr. Hume favourably disposed 
towards me. When she went from Motiers she left me 
in the persuasion, by everything she had said to me of 
that illustrious man, that he was my friend, and she her- 
self still more his. 

After her departure Montmollin carried on his ma- 
nœuvres with more vigour, and the populace threw off all 
restraint; yet Î still continued to walk quietly amidst the 
hootings of the vulgar; and a taste for botany, which I 
had begun to contract with Doctor d’Ivernois, makimg 
my rambles more amusing, Î[ went through the country 
herborismg, without being affected by the clamours of 
this vile herd, whose fury was augmented by my calm- 
ness. What affected me most was seeing the families of 
my friends,! or of persons who gave themselves that 
title, openly join the league of my persecutors; such as the 
D’Ivernois, without excepting the father and brother of 
my Isabelle, Boy de La Tour, a relation of the friend m 


1 This fatality had begun with my residence at Yverdun. The Banneret 
Roguin dying a year or two after my departure from that city, old Papa 
Roguin had the candour to imform me with grief, as he saïd, that in the 
papers of his relation proofs had been found of his having been concerned 
in the conspiracy to expel me from Yverdun and the State of Berne. 
This clearly proved the conspiracy not to be, as some persons would have 
it thought, an affair of religious hypocrisy, since the Banneret, far from 
being a devotee, carried materialism and incredulity to intolerance and 
fanaticism. Besides, nobody at Yverdun had shown me more constant 
attention, nor more prodigally bestowed upon me praises and flattery, 
than this Banneret Roguin. He faithfully followed the favourite plan 


of my persecutors. — KR. 
C 368 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


whose house I Ilodged; and Madame Girardier, her 
sister-in-law. This Pierre Boy was such a brute, so 
stupid, and behaved so uncouthly, that, to prevent my 
mind from being disturbed, I took the liberty to ridicule 
him; and, after the manner of the Petit Prophète, | wrote 
a pamphlet of a few pages, entitled La Vision de Pierre de 
la Montagne, dit le Voyant, in which I found means to be 
diverting enough on the miracles which then served as 
the great pretext for my persecution. Du Peyrou had 
this scrap printed at Geneva, but its success in the 
country was but moderate; the Neufchâtelois, with all 
their wit, taste but weakly Attic salt or pleasantry when 
these are a little refined. 

When the tempest of decrees and persecutions was at 
its height, the Genevese had distinguished themselves by 
setting up a hue and cry with all their might; and my 
friend Vernes, amongst others, with a truly theologic 
generosity, chose that precise moment to publish against 
me letters, in which he pretended to prove that I was not 
a Christian. These letters, written with an air of self- 
sufficiency, were not the better for it, although it was 
positively said that the naturalist Bonnet had given them 
some correction; for this man, although a materialist, 
has an imtolerant orthodoxy the moment I am in question. 
I felt no temptation to answer this work, but having an 
opportunity of saying a few words upon it in my Lettres 
de la Montagne, I inserted therein a short note sufficiently 
expressive of disdam to render Vernes furious. He filled 
Geneva with his furious exclamations, and D’Ivernois 
wrote me word that he had quite lost his senses. Some 
time afterwards appeared an anonymous sheet, which, 
instead of ink, seemed to be written with the water of 
Phlegethon. In this letter [ was accused of having ex- 
posed my children to the streets, of taking about with me 
a soldier’s trull, of bemg worn out with debaucheries, 


C 369 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


rotten with disease, and other pretty things of a like 
nature. Ît was not difficult for me to discover the author. 
My first idea on reading this libel was to reduce to its 
real value everythmg the world calls fame and reputa- 
tion amongst men; seeing thus a man who was never in 
a brothel in his life, and whose greatest defect was his 
being timid and shy as a virgin, treated as a frequenter 
of places of that description, and in findmg myself 
charged with the mfection of a shameful malady, I, who 
not only never had the least taint of such disorder, but, 
accordmg to the faculty, was so constituted as to make 
it almost impossible for me to contract it. Everything 
well considered, I thought I could not better refute this 
libel than by having it printed in the city in which I had 
Jongest resided, and with this mtention I sent it to Du- 
chesne to print it as it was with an advertisement, in 
which [ named Monsieur Vernes, and a few short notes 
by way of explanation. Not satisfied with printimg it 
only, Î sent copies to several persons, and amongst others 
one copy to Monsieur le Prince Louis de Wirtemberg, 
who had made me polite advances, and with whom I was 
in correspondence. This Prince, Du Peyrou, and others 
seemed to have their doubts about the author of the libel, 
and blamed me for having named Vernes upon so slight 
a foundation. Their remarks produced in me some 
scruples, and [ wrote to Duchesne to suppress the paper. 
Guy wrote that he had suppressed it. This may or may 
not be the case; I have found him to be a liar on so many 
occasions that there would be nothing extraordinary on 
his being so on this, and, from the time of which I speak, 
Ï was so enveloped im profound darkness that it was im- 
possible for me to come at any kind of truth. 

Monsieur Vernes bore the imputation with a modera- 
tion more than astonishing in a man who was supposed 
not to have deserved it, and after the fury with which 


C370] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


he was seized on former occasions. He wrote me two or 
three letters in very guarded terms, with a view, as it 
appeared to me, to endeavour by my answers to dis- 
cover how far my mformation extended, and whether I 
had any proofs agaimst him. Î wrote him two short 
answers, severe in the sense, but politely expressed, and 
with which he was not displeased. To his third letter, 
perceiving that he wished to form with me a kind of cor- 
respondence, Î returned no answer, and he got D’Iver- 
nois to speak to me. Madame Cramer wrote to Du Pey- 
rou, telling him she was certain that the libel was not by 
Vernes. Al this, however, did not make me change my 
opinion; but as it was possible I might be deceived, 
and as it is certain that if I were [ owed Vernes an explicit 
reparation, Î sent him word by D’Ivernois that I would 
make him such a one as he should think proper, provided 
he would name to me the real author of the libel, or at 
[least prove that he himself was not so. I[ went farther: 
feeling that, after all, were he not culpable, I had no 
right to call upon him for proofs of any kind, I stated, im 
a memoir of considerable length, the reasons whence I 
had inferred my conclusion, and determined to submit 
them to the judgment of an arbitrator, against whom 
Vernes could not except. But few people would guess the 
arbitrator of whom Î[ made choice — the Council of 
Geneva. I declared at the end of the memoir that if, 
after having examined it and made such inquiries as 
should seem necessary, the Council pronounced Monsieur 
Vernes not to be the author of the libel, from that mo- 
ment I should be fully persuaded he was not, and would 
immediately go and throw myself at his feet, and ask 
his pardon until I had obtained it. I can say with the 
greatest truth that my ardent zeal for equity, the up- 
rightness and generosity of my heart, and my confidence 
in the love of justice innate in every mind, never appeared 


HERVE 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


more fully and perceptibly than in this judicious and 
interesting memoir, in which [ took, without hesitating, 
my most implacable enemies for arbitrators between a 
calumniator and myself. I read to Du Peyrou what I 
had written. He advised me to suppress it, and I did so. 
He counselled me to wait for the proofs promised by 
Vernes; Î waited for them, and am waitmg still He 
thought it best that I should in the meantime be silent, 
and hold my tongue; Î became silent, and shall be so 
for the rest of my life, censured as I am for having brought 
against Vernes a heavy imputation, false and unsup- 
ported by proof, although [ am still fully persuaded — 
nay, as convinced as Î am of my existence — that he 1s 
the author of the libel. My memoir is in the hands of 
Monsieur du Peyrou. Should it ever be published, my 
reasons will be found m it, and the heart of Jean-Jacques, 
with which my contemporaries were so unwilling to be 
acquainted, will, I hope, be known. 

Ï have now to proceed to my catastrophe at Motiers, 
and to my departure from the Val-de-Travers after a 
residence of two years and a half, and eight months’ 
sufferimg with unshaken constancy of the most unworthy 
treatment. Ît is impossible for me clearly to recollect 
the circumstances of this disagreeable period, but a 
detail of them will be found in a publication to that 
effect by Du Peyrou, of which I shall hereafter have 
occasion to speak. 

—— After the departure of Madame de Verdelin the fer- 
mentation increased, and, notwithstanding the reiterated 
rescripts of the King, the frequent orders of the Council 
of State, and the attention given to the matter by the 
Châtelam and magistrates of the place, the people, 
seriously considering me as Antichrist, and percerving all 
their clamours to be of no effect, seemed at length deter- 
mined to proceed to violence: stones were already thrown 


C 372] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


after me on the roads; I was, however, in general at too 
great a distance to receive any harm from them. At 
last, on the night of the fair of Motiers, which is in the 
beginning of September, [ was attacked im my house in 
such a manner as to endanger the lives of the imhabitants. 

At midnight I[ heard a great noise in the gallery which 
ran along the back part of the house. A shower of 
pebbles thrown against the window and the door which 
opened to the gallery fell mto it with so much noise and 
violence that my dog, which usually slept there and had 
begun to bark, ceased through fright, and ran into a 


corner, gnawing and scratching the planks im endeavour- 


img to make his escape. Î immediately rose, and was 
preparing to go from my chamber into the kitchen, when 


a stone thrown by a vigorous arm crossed the latter after 


having broken the window, forced open the door of my 
chamber, and fell at the foot of my bed, so that had I 
been a moment sooner I should have had the stone against 
my stomach. I judged that the noise had been made to 
bring me to the door, and the stone thrown to receive 
me as Î went out. Î ran into the kitchen, where I found 
Thérèse, who also had risen and was tremblimgly makmg 
her way to me as fast as she could. We placed ourselves 
against the wall out of the direction of the window, to 
avoid the stones and deliberate upon what was best to 
be done, for going out to call assistance was the certain 
means of getting ourselves knocked on the head. For- 
tunately the maid-servant of an old man who lodged 
under me was waked by the noise, and got up and ran 
to call Monsieur le Châtelam, whose house was next to 
mine. He jumped from his bed, hastily put on his robe 
de chambre, and instantly came to me with the guard, 
which, on account of the fair, went the round that night, 
and was just at hand. The Châtelain was so alarmed at the 
sight of the disorder and damage that he turned pale, and 


U3734 


THE CONFESSIONSROE 


on seeing the stones in the gallery exclaimed, “Good God! 
here is a quarry!” On examining belowstairs,the door of a 
little court was found to have been forced, and there 
was an appearance of an attempt having been made to 
get into the house by the gallery. On inquirmg the 
reason why the guard had neither prevented nor per- 
ceived the disturbance, it came out that the guards of 
Motiers had insisted upon doing duty that night, al- 
though it was the turn of those of another village. The 
next day the Châtelain sent his report to the Council of 
State, which two days afterwards sent an order to mquire 
into the affair, to promise a reward and secrecy to those 
who should impeach such as were guilty, and in the 
meantime to place at the expense of the King guards 
about my house, and that of the Châtelain, which joined 
toit. The day after the disturbance Colonel de Pury, 
the Procureur-général Meuron, the Châtelamn Martinet, 
the Receiver Guyenet, the Treasurer d’Ivernois and his 
father — in a word, every person of consequence im the 
country came to see me, and united their solicitations to 
persuade me to yield to the storm and leave, at least for 
a time, a place m which [I could no longer live in safety 
nor with honour. Î perceived that even the Châtelam 
was frightened at the fury of the people, and apprehend- 
img it might extend to himself, would be glad to see me 
depart as soon as possible, that he might no longer have 
the trouble of protectmg me there, and be able to quit 
* the parish, which he did after my departure. I therefore 
vielded to their sollicitations, and, mdeed, without much 
reluctance, for the spectacle of the people’s hatred so 
aficted my heart that [ was no longer able to support it.! 


1 This ‘lapidation, of which Rousseau furnishes such minute details 
that one can scarcely suppose them to be imaginary, has nevertheless 
been called in question, and those who dispute its reality have also some 
claim to belief. Monsieur Servan tells us that he was informed by a man 
in whom he could trust, and who had visited Rousseau on the following 


C 374] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


Ï had a choice of places to retire to. After Madame de 
Verdelin returned to Paris she had im several letters men- 
tioned a Mr. Walpole, whom she called ‘milord, who, 
having a strong desire to serve me, proposed to me an 
asylum at one of his country-houses, of the situation of 
which she gave me the most agreeable description, enter- 
ing, relative to lodgimg and subsistence, into a detail 
which proved she and my Lord Walpole had held par- 
ticular consultations upon the project. My Lord Mar- 
shal had always advised me to go to England or Scotland, 
and had offered me an asylum on his estates. But he 
offered me another at Potsdam, near to his person, and 
which tempted me more than all the rest. He had just 
communicated to me what the King had said to him 
respectimg myself, which was a kind of mvitation to go 
thither, and the Duchess of Saxe-Gotha depended so 
much upon my taking the journey that she wrote to me 
desiring that Ï would go to see her on my way, and stay 
some time before [I proceeded farther; but I was so 
attached to Switzerland that I could not resolve to quit 
it so long as it was possible for me to live there, and I 
seized this opportunity to execute a project of which I had 
for several months conceived the idea, and of which I have 
deferred speaking that I might not imterrupt my narrative. 

This project consisted in going to reside in the Île de 
Saint-Pierre, an estate belonging to the Hospital of Berne, 
in the middle of the lake of Bienne. In the pedestrian 
pilgrimage Ï had made im the preceding year with Du 
Peyrou we had visited this isle, with which [ was so 
much delighted that I had since that time incessantly 
thought of the means of making it my place of residence. 
The greatest obstacle to my wishes arose from the 


day, that the apertures made in the glass were smaller than the pebbles 
found on the floor; and he perceived in the incident a scheme devised by 
the gouvernante to force her master to quit a country that she disliked. 


C375] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


property of the island being vested in the people of 
Berne, who three years before had ignominiously driven 
me from amongst them; and, besides the mortification 
of returning to live with people who had given me so 
unfavourable a reception, I had reason to fear that they 
would leave me no more at peace in the island than they 
had done at Yverdun. I had consulted my Lord Marshal 
upon the subject, who, thinking as I did that the people 
of Berne would be glad to see me banished to this island, 
and to keep me there as a hostage for the works I might 
be tempted to write, had sounded their dispositions by 
means of Monsieur Sturler, his old neighbour at Colom- 
bier. Monsieur Sturler addressed himself to the chiefs of 
the State, and according to their answer assured my Lord 
Marshal that the Bernese, sorry for their past behaviour, 
wished nothing better than to see me settled in the Île 
de Saint-Pierre, and to leave me there at peace. As an 
additional precaution, before I determined to reside there, 
I requested Colonel Chaillet to make new mquiries. He 
confirmed what I had already heard, and, the receiver of 
the island having obtamed from his superiors permission 
to lodge me in it, I thought [ might without danger go 
to his house, with the tacit consent of the Sovereign and 
the proprietors, for I could not expect that the people of 
Berne would openly acknowledge the injustice they had 
done me, and thus act contrary to the most inviolable 
maxim of all Sovereigns. : 
The Île de Saint-Pierre, called at Neufchâtel the Ile 
de La Motte, in the middle of the Lake of Bienne, 1s 
half a league in circumference, but in this little space all 
the chief productions necessary to subsistence are found. 
The island has fields, meadows, orchards, woods, and 
vimeyards; and all these, favoured by variegated and 
mountainous situations, form a distribution the more 
agreeable, as the different parts, not being discovered all 


CL 376] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


at once, are seen successively to advantage, and make the 
island appear greater than it really is. A very elevated 
terrace forms the western part of it, and commands 
Gleresse and Bonneville. This terrace is planted with 
trees which form a long alley, mterrupted in the middle 
by a great saloon, m which, during the vintage, the people 
from the neighbouring shores assemble on Sundays to 
dance and enjoy themselves. There is but one house in 
the whole island, but that is very spacious and con- 
venient, inhabited by the receiver, and situated im a 
hollow by which it is sheltered from the wimdbs. 

Five or six hundred paces to the south is another 
island, considerably less than the former, wild and un- 
cultivated, which appears to have been detached from 
the greater isle by storms; its gravelly soil produces 
nothing but willows and persicaria, but there is in it a 
high hill well covered with greensward and very pleasant. 
The form of the lake is an almost regular oval. The 
banks, less rich than those of the Lake of Geneva and of 
Neufchâtel, form a beautiful settimg for the picture, es- 
pecially towards the western part, which 1s well peopled, 
and edged at the foot of a chain of mountains with vine- 
yards something like those of Côte-Rôtie, but which do 
not produce such excellent wine. One passes, in going 
from south to north, the bailliage de Saint-Jean, Bonne- 
ville, Bienne, and Nidau at the extremity of the lake, the 
whole interspersed with very agreeable villages. 

Such was the asylum I had prepared for myself, and 
to which I was determined to retire after quitting the Val- 
de-Travers.! This choice was so agreeable to my peace- 


1 It may perhaps be desirable to remark that I left there a particular 
enemy in one Monsieur du Terraux, Mayor of Les Verrières, not much 
esteemed in the country, but who has a brother, said to be an honest 
man, in the office of Monsieur de Saint-Florentin. The Mayor had been 
to see him some time before my adventure. Little remarks of this kind, 
though of no consequence in themselves, may lead to the discovery of 
many underhand dealings. — KR. 


C 377] 


THE :CONFESSIONSROn 


ful intention and my solitary and indolent disposition 
that I consider it as one of the pleasing reveries of which 
I became most passionately fond. It seemed that I 
should in that island be more separated from men, more 
sheltered from their outrages, and sooner forgotten by 
mankind — in a word, more abandoned to the delightful 
pleasures of maction and a contemplative life. [I could 
have wished to be confined im it in such a manner as to 
have no mtercourse with mortals, and I certamly took 
every measure Î[ could imagine to relieve me from the 
necessity of troubling my head about them. 

The great question was that of subsistence: owing to 
the dearness of provisions and the difficulty of carriage 
this is expensive in the island; the imhabitants are besides 
at the mercy of the receiver. This difficulty was removed 
by an arrangement which Du Peyrou made with me in 
becoming a substitute for the company which had under- 
taken and abandoned my general edition. Î gave him 
all the materials necessary, and made the proper arrange- 
ment and distribution. To the engagement between us 
I added that of giving him the memoirs of my life, and 
made him the general depositary of all my papers under 
the express condition of making no use of them until 
after my death, having it at heart quietly to end my days 
without domg anything which should bring me back to 
the recollection of the public. The life annuity he under- 
took to pay me in return was sufficient for my sub- 
sistence. My Lord Marshal, having recovered all his 
property, had offered me twelve hundred francs a year, 
one-half of which only [I would accept. He wished to 
send me the principal, but this I refused on account of 
the difficulty of placmg it. He then sent the amount to 
Du Peyrou, m whose hands it remained, and who pays 
me the annuity accordmg to the terms agreed upon with 
his lordship. Adding therefore the result of my agree- 


CL 378 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


ment with Du Peyrou to the annuity of the Marshal, 
two-thirds of which were to revert to Thérèse after my 
death, and the annuity of three hundred francs from Du- 
chesne, Î[ was assured of a fair subsistence for myself, and 
after me for Thérèse, to whom I left seven hundred francs 
a year, from the annuities paid me by Rey and my Lord 
Marshal. [I had therefore no longer to fear a want of 
bread on her part or my own. But it was ordained that 
honour should oblige me to reject all the resources which 
fortune and my labours placed within my reach, and that 
I should die as poor as I had lived. It will be seen 
whether, without reducing myself to the last degree of 
imfamy, Î could abide by those engagements which have 
always been carefully rendered ignominious, by depriv- 
mg me of every other resource in order to force me to 
consent to my own dishonour. How could anyone doubt 
of the choice I should make m such an alternative? 
Others have judged of my heart by their own. 

My mind, at ease relative to subsistence, was without 
care upon every other subject. Although I left m the 
world the field open to my enemies, there remained m 
the noble enthusiasm by which my writmgs were dic- 
tated, and im the constant uniformity of my principles, 
an evidence of the uprightness of my heart, which 
answered to that deducible from my conduct m favour of 
my natural disposition. I had no need of any other 
defence agamst my calumniators. They might under 
my name describe another man, but they could only de- 
ceive such as were willing to be imposed upon. I could 
have given them my whole life to animadvert upon, with 
a certamty, notwithstanding all my faults and weak- 
nesses, and my want of aptitude to support the lightest 
yoke, of their finding me m every situation a just and 
good man, without bitterness, hatred, or jealousy, ready 
to acknowledge my faults, and still more prompt to for- 


LC 379 ] 


THEY CONFESSIONSRUE 


get those of others, seeking all my happiness im love, 
friendship, and affection, and in everything carrying my 
sincerity to imprudence, even to the most imcredible dis- 
interestedness. 

I therefore im some measure took leave of the age in 
which I lived, and of my contemporaries, and bade adieu 
to the world, with an intention to confine myself for the 
rest of my days to this island; such was my resolution, 
and it was there I hoped to execute the great project of 
the mdolent life to which I had until then meffectually 
consecrated the little activity with which heaven had 
endowed me. The island was to become to me that of 
Papimanie,! that happy country where the imhabitants 
sleep — 


‘On y fait plus, on n’y fait nulle chose.” 


This more was everything for me, for Ï never much 
regretted sleep; indolence is sufficient to my happiness, 
and provided I do nothmg I had rather dream waking 
than asleep. Being past the age of romantic projects, and 
having been more stunned than flattered by the trum- 
pet of fame, my only hope was that of living at ease 
and eternally at leisure. This is the life of the blessed 
in the world to come, and for the rest of mine here below 
Ï made it my supreme happiness. 

They who reproach me with so many contradictions 
will not fail here to add another to the number. I have 
observed that the imdolence of fashionable circles made 
them msupportable to me, and Ï am now seeking soli- 
tude for the sole purpose of abandonmg myself to indo- 
lence. This, however, is my disposition; if there be in 
it a contradiction, it proceeds from nature and not from 
me; but there is so little that it is precisely on that ac- 
count that Î am always consistent. The indolence of 

1 La Fontaine, Le Diable de Papeñfiguière. 


C 380 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


company is burdensome because it is forced; that of 
solitude is charmimg because it is free, and depends upon 
the will. In company I suffer cruelly by inaction, be- 
cause this is a necessity. ÏÎ must there remain naïled to . 
my chair, or stand upright like a picket without stirring 
_ hand or foot, not daring to run, jump, sing, exclaim, or 
gesticulate when [I please, not allowed even to dream, 
suffering at once all the fatigue of maction and all the 
torment of constraint; obliged to pay attention to every 
foolish thing uttered, and to all the idle compliments 
paid, and constantly to keep my mind upon the rack that 
Ï may not fail to imtroduce in my turn my Jjest or my lie. 
And this is called idleness! It is the labour of a galley-slave. 

The indolence I love is not that of a lazy fellow who 
sits with his arms folded in total inaction, and thinks no 
more than he acts: it is at one and the same time that of 
a child who is incessantly in motion domg nothing, and 
that of a dotard who wanders from his subject while his 
limbs are at rest. I love to amuse myself with trifles, in 
beginning a hundred things and never finishmg one of 
them, in gomg and coming as I take either into my head, 
in changing my project at every instant, Im following 
a fly through all its wmdings, im wishing to overturn a 
. rock to see what is under it, m undertaking with ardour 
the work of ten years and abandonimg it without regret 
at the end of ten minutes; finally, im musing from morn- 
ing until night without order or coherence, and in fol- 
lowing in everything the caprice of the moment. 

Botany, such as I have always considered it, and of 
which after my own manner I began to become passion- 
ately fond, was precisely an idle study proper to fill 
up the void of my leisure without leaving room for the 
delirium of imagination or the weariness of total inaction. 
Carelessly wandering in the woods and the country, 
mechanically gathering here a flower and there a branch, 


; C 381 ] 


THE :CONFESSTONSROE 


browsing almost by chance, observing a thousand and a 
thousand times the same things, and always with the 
same interest, because [I always forgot them, were to me 
the means of passing an eternity without a weary mo- 
ment. However elegant, admirable, and variegated the 
structure of plants may be, it does not strike an igno- 
rant eye sufhciently to fix the attention. The constant 
analogy, with at the same time the prodigious variety, 
which reigns im their conformation gives pleasure to 
those only who have already some idea of the vegetable 
system. Others, at the sight of these treasures of nature, 
feel nothing more than a stupid and monotonous wonder. 
They see nothing in detail because they know not for 
what they [ook, nor do they perceive the whole, having 
no idea of the chain of connection and combinations 
which overwhelms with its marvels the mind of the ob- 
server. Î was arrived at that happy pont of knowledge 
— and my want of memory was such as constantly to 
keep me there — that I knew little enough to make the 
whole new to me, and suflicient to make me sensible of 
all. The different soils into which the island, although 
small, was divided offered a sufhicient variety of plants 
for the study and amusement of my whole life. I was 
determined not to leave a blade of grass without analys- 
mg it, and I began already to take measures for making, 
with an immense collection of curious observations, the 
Flora Petrinsularis. 

I sent for Thérèse, who brought with her my books 
and effects. We boarded with the receiver of the island. 
His wife had sisters at Nidau who by turns came to see 
her, and were company for Thérèse. I here made the 
experiment of the agreeable life which I could have 
wished to continue, and the pleasure I found im it only 
served to make me feel to a greater degree the bitterness 
of that by which it was shortly to be succeeded. 


L 382 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


I have ever been passionately fond of water, and 
the sight of it throws me mto a delightful reverie, al- 
though frequently without a determinate object. Im- 
mediately after [ rose from my bed I never failed, if the 
weather was fine, to run to the terrace to breathe the 
fresh and salubrious air of the mornimg, and gaze upon 
the horizon of this beautiful lake, bounded by banks and 
 mountains delightful to the view. I know no homage 
more worthy of the Divinity than the silent admiration 
excited by the contemplation of his works, and which is 
not externally expressed. I can easily comprehend the 
reason why the inhabitants of cities, who see nothing 
but walls, streets, and crimes, have but little faith, but 
not whence it happens that people in the country, and 
especially such as live m solitude, can be without it. 
How comes it to pass that these do not a hundred times 
a day eleévate their souls in ecstasy to the Author of the 
wonders which strike their senses? For my part, ït is 
especially at risimg, wearied by a want of sleep, that long 
habit inclmes me to this elevation, which imposes not the 
fatigue of thmking. But to this effect my eyes must be 
struck with the ravishimg spectacle of nature. In my 
chamber Î pray less frequently, and less fervently, but 
at the view of a fine landscape I feel myself moved, yet 
by what I am unable to tell. I have somewhere read of a 
wise bishop who, m a visit to his diocese, found an old 
woman whose only prayer consisted in the single mter- 
jection ‘Oh!’ ‘Good mother, said he to her, ‘continue 
always to pray thus. Your prayer is better than ours.” 
This better prayer is mine also. 

. After breakfast I hastened, with a frown on my brow, 
to write a few pitiful letters, longmg ardently for the 
moment after which I should have no more to write. 
I busied myself for a few minutes about my books and 
papers, to unpack and arrange them, rather than to read 


C 383 ] 





THE CONFESSIONS OF 


what they contained, and this arrangement, which to me 
became the work of Penelope, gave me the pleasure of 
musing for a while. Î then grew weary, and quitted my 
books to spend the three or four hours which remained 
to me of the morning in the study of botany, and es- : 
pecially of the system of Linnæus, of which I became so 
passionately fond that, after having felt how useless my 
attachment to it was, [ yet could not entirely shake it 
off. This great observer is, in my opinion, the only one 
who, with Ludwig, has hitherto considered botany in 
the spirit of a naturalist and a philosopher; but he has 
too much studied it in herbaria and gardens, and not 
sufficiently in Nature herself. For my part, whose garden 
was always the whole island, the moment [I wanted to 
make or verify an observation I ran into the woods or 
meadows with my book under my arm, and there laid 
myself upon the ground near the plant m question, to 
examine it at my ease as it stood. This method was of 
great service to me im gaming a knowledge of vegetables 
in their natural state, before they had been cultivated 
and changed in their nature by the hands of men. Fagon, . 
first physician to Louis XIV, and who named and per- 
fectly knew all the plants Im the Jardin-Royal, is said to 
have been so ignorant in the country as not to know how 
to distimguish the same plants. I am precisely the con- 
trary: [ know something of the work of nature, but noth- 
ing of that of the gardener. 

Î gave up every afternoon wholly to my indolent and 
careless disposition, and to following without regularity 
the impulse of the moment. When the weather was calm 
T frequently went, immediately after I rose from dinner, 
and alone got into a little boat, which the receiver had 
taught me to row with one oar. I rowed out into the 
middle of the lake. The moment I withdrew from the 
bank I felt a secret joy which almost made me leap, and 


C 384 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


of which it is impossible for me to tell or even compre- 
hend the cause, if it were not a secret congratulation on 
my being out of the reach of the wicked. I afterwards 
rowed about the lake, sometimes approaching the oppo- 
site bank but never touching at it. I often let my boat 
float at the mercy of the wind and water, abandoning 
_ myself to reveries without object, and which were not the 
Jess agreeable for their stupidity. 1 sometimes fondly ex- 
claimed, “O Nature! O my mother! I am here under thy 
guardianship alone; here is no deceitful and cunning 
mortal to interfere between me and thee.” In this man- 
ner Î withdrew half a league from land: I could have 
wished the lake had been the ocean. However, to please 
my poor dog, who was not so fond as I was of such a long 
stay on the water, Ï commonly followed one constant 
course; this was, going to land at the smaller island, 
where I walked an hour or two, or laid myself down on 
the grass on the summit of the hill, there to satiate my- 
self with the pleasure of admiring the lake and its en- 
virons, to examine and dissect all the herbs within my 
reach, and, like another Robinson, build myself an 
imaginary dwellmg m the little island. I became very 
much attached to this emimence. When I brought 
Thérèse, with the wife of the recerver and her sisters, to 
walk there, how proud was I to be their pilot and guide! 
We made a ceremony of takimg rabbits thither to people 
it — another source of pleasure to Jean-Jacques. These 
animals rendered the little island still more interesting 
to me. I afterwards went to it more frequently, and with 
greater pleasure, to observe the signs of progress among 
the new mhabitants. 

To these amusements Î added one which recalled to my 
recollection the delightful life I had Jed at Les Char- 
mettes, and to which the season particularly invited me. 
This was assisting in the rustic labours of gathering im 


C 385 ] 


THEMCONFESSIONSEUS 


vegetables and fruits, in which Thérèse and I made it a 
pleasure to partake, with the wife of the receiver and his 
family. ÏÎ remember that a Bernese, one Monsieur 
Kirchbergher, coming to see me, found me perched upon 
a great tree with a sack fastened to my waist, and al- 
ready so full of apples that [ could not stir from the spot. 
Ï was not sorry to be caught im this and similar situations. 
I hoped the people of Berne, witnesses to the employ- 
ment of my leisure, would no longer think of disturbmg 
my tranquillity, but leave me in peace in my solitude. 
I should have preferred bemg confined there by their 
desire rather than by my own. This would have rendered 
the continuance of my repose more certain. 

This is another declaration upon which I am previously 
assured of the mcredulity of many of my readers who will 
obstinately judge of me by themselves, although they 
cannot but have seen, in the course of my life, a thousand 
internal mclinations which bore no resemblance to any 
of theirs. But what is still more extraordinary is that, 
while they refuse me every sentiment, good or indiffer- 
ent, which they have not, they are constantly ready to 
attribute to me such evil ones as cannot even enter the 
heart of man. In this case they find it easy to set me im 
opposition to nature, and to make of me such a monster 
as cannot in reality exist. Nothing absurd appears to 
them incredible, the moment it has a tendency to vilify 
me, and nothing in the least extraordinary seems to them 
possible, if it tends to do me honour. 

But, notwithstandimg what they may th or say, Î 
will still contmue faithfully to state what Jean-Jacques 
Rousseau was, did, and thought, without explamimg or 
justifymg the singularity of his sentiments and ideas, or 
endeavouring to discover whether others have thought 
as he did. I became so delighted with the Île de Saint- 
Pierre, and my residence there was so agreeable to me, 


L 386 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


‘that, by concentrating all my desires within it, I formed 
the wish that I might stay there to the end of my life. 
The visits [ had to return in the neighbourhood, the 
journeys Î should be under the necessity of making 
‘to Neufchâtel, Bienne, Yverdun, and Nidau, already 
| fatigued my imagimation. À day passed out of the island 
seemed to me a loss of so much happiness, and to go 
beyond the bounds of the lake was to go out of my ele- 
ment. Past experience had besides rendered me appre- 
 hensive. The very satisfaction that I received from any- 
| thing was sufficient to make me fear the loss of it, and 
. the ardent desire I felt to end my days in that island was 
mseparable from the fear of bemg obliged to leave :1t. 
[ had a habit of gomg m the evenmg to sit upon the 
sandy shore, especially when the lake was agitated. I 
| felt a singular pleasure m seemg the waves break at my 
feet. I formed of them im my imagination the image of 
the tumult of the world contrasted with the peace of my 
habitation, and this pleasing idea sometimes softened me 
even to tears. The repose I enjoyed with ecstasy was 
disturbed only by the mquietude arismg from fear of 
its loss, but this inquietude was accompanied with some 
bitterness. I felt my situation so precarious that [I dared 
not count upon its contimuance. “Ah! how willmgly,” 
said I to myself, “would I renounce the liberty of quittmg 
this place, for which I have no desire, for the assurance 
of always remaming im it! Instead of bemg permitted to 
stay here by favour, why am [ not detained by force? 
They who suffer me to remain may in a moment drive 
me away; and can Î hope my persecutors, seeing me 
happy, will leave me here to continue to be so? Ah! per- 
mission to live in the island is but a trifling favour: I 
could wish to be condemned to it, and constrained to re- 
main here, that [I may not be obliged to go elsewhere.’ 
I cast an envious eye upon the happy Micheli Ducret, 


C 387 ] 





THE CONFESSIONS OF 


who, quiet in the Château d’Arberg, had only to deter- 
mine to be happy to be so. In fine, through abandon- 
img myself to these reflections, and the alarming appre- 
hensions of new storms always ready to break over my 
head, I desired with an incredible ardour that, instead of 
suffering me to reside im the island, the Bernese would 
give it me for a perpetual prison; and I can affirm that, 
had it depended upon me to get myself condemned to 
this, Ï would most joyfully have done it, preferring a 
thousand times the necessity of passing my life there to 
the danger of bemg expelled thence. 

This fear did not long remain a vain one. When I 
least expected what was to happen, Î received a letter 
from Monsieur le Baïlli de Nidau, within whose jurisdic- 
tion the Île de Saimt-Pierre was. By this letter he an- 
nounced to me from their Excellencies an order to quit 
the island and their States. I thought myself in a dream. 
Nothing could be less natural, reasonable, or foreseen 
than such an order, for [ had considered my apprehen- 
sions as the result of inquietude in a man whose imagina- 
tion was disturbed by his misfortunes, and not to proceed 
from a prevision which could have the least foundation. 
The measures I had taken to insure myself the tacit 
consent of the Sovereign; ! the tranquillity with which I 
had been left to make my establishment; the visits of 
several people from Berne, and that of the baïlli himself, 
who had shown me much friendship and attention; the 
rigour of the season, im which it was barbarous to expel 
a man who was sickly and imfirm — all these circum- 
stances made me and many people believe that there was 
some mistake in the order, and that 1ll-disposed people 
had purposely chosen the time of the vintage and the 
vacation of the Senate suddenly to strike this blow. 

Had I yielded to the first impulse of my imdignation I 


1 That is, the Sovereign Power. 


C 388 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 





| should immediately have departed. But whither was I to 
go? What was to become of me at the beginning of the 
winter, without object, preparation, guide, or carriage? 
If I were not to leave my papers and effects at the mercy 
| of the first comer, time was necessary to make proper 
‘arrangements, and it was not stated in the order whether 
this would be granted me. The contimuity of misfortunes 
began to weigh down my courage. For the first time in 
my life I felt my natural haughtiness stoop to the yoke 
of necessity, and, notwithstanding the murmurs of my 
heart, 1 was obliged to humble myself by askmg for a 
delay. Î applied to Monsieur de Graffenried, who had 
sent me the order, for an explanation of it. His letter, 
conceived in the strongest terms of disapprobation of 
the step that had been taken, assured me that it was 
| with the greatest regret that he communicated to me the 
nature of it, and the expressions of grief and esteem it 
contained seemed so many gentle invitations to open to 
him my heart. I did so. I had no doubt but my letter 
would make my persecutors conscious of their barbarity, 
and that, if so cruel an order were not revoked, at least a 
reasonable delay, perhaps the whole winter, to make the 
necessary preparations for my retreat, and to choose my 
place of abode, would be granted me. 

Whilst [I waited for an answer Î set myself to reflect 
upon my situation, and deliberated upon the steps I had 
to take. I perceived so many difhculties on all sides, the 
vexation Î had suffered had so strongly affected me, and 
my health was then in such a bad state, that [ was quite 

_overcome, and the effect of my discouragement was 
to deprive me of the little resource which remained 
in my mind by which I might make the most of my 
melancholy situation. In whatever asylum [ should 
take refuge, it appeared impossible to avoid either of 
the two means made use of to expel me: one of 


C 389 ] 





THE CONFESSIONS OE 


which was to stir up the populace against me by hidden 
manœuvres, and the other to drive me away by open 
force, without giving a reason for so domg. I could 
not, therefore, depend upon any safe retreat, unless 
Ï went in search of it farther than my strength and the 
season seemed likely to permit. These circumstances 
again bringing to my recollection the ideas which had 
lately occurred to me, [I dared to ask my persecutors 
im plain terms to condemn me to perpetual imprison- 
ment rather than oblige me mcessantly to wander upon 
the earth, by successively expelling me from the asylums 
of which I should make choice. Two days after my first 
letter to Monsieur de Graffenried Ï wrote him a second, 
desiring he would state what I had proposed to their 
Excellencies. The answer from Berne to both was an 
order, conceived in the most formal and severe terms, 
to go out of the island, and leave every territory, mediate 
and immediate, of the Republic, within the space of 
twenty-four hours, and never to re-enter, under the most 
grievous penalties. 

This was a terrible moment. I have since that time 
felt greater anguish, but never have I been more em- 
barrassed. What afflicted me most was being forced 
to abandon the project which had made me desirous to 
pass the winter in the island. Ît is now the time to 
relate the fatal event which completed my disasters, 
and mvolved in my ruin an unfortunate people whose 
rising virtues already promised to equal im the future 
those of Rome and Sparta. I had spoken of the Corsicans 
im Le Contrat Social as a new people, the only nation im 
Europe not too degenerated for legislation, and had 
expressed the great hope there was for such a people, if 
they were fortunate enough to have a wise legislator. 
My work was read by some of the Corsicans, who were 
sensible of the honourable manner in which I had spoken 


L 390 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


of them; and the necessity under which they found them- 
selves of endeavourmg to establish their republic made 
their chiefs think of asking me for my ideas upon this 
important task. Monsieur Buttafuoco, who belonged to 
one of the first families in the country, and captain in 
France in the Royal-Italien Corps, wrote to me to that 
effect, and sent me several papers for which I had asked 
to make myself acquainted with the history of the nation 
and the state of the country. Monsieur Paoli also wrote 
to me several times; and, although I felt such an under- 
takmg to be superior to my abilities, I thought I could 
not refuse to give my assistance Im so great and noble a 
work so soon as I should have acquired all the necessary 
information. Ît was to this effect that I answered both 
these gentlemen, and the correspondence lasted till my 
departure. 

Precisely at the same time [ heard that France was 
sending troops to Corsica, and that she had entered into 
a treaty with the Genoese. This treaty and sending of 
troops gave me uneasiness, and without imagining that 
I had any further relation with the busimess, I thought 
it impossible, and the attempt ridiculous, to labour at an 
undertaking which required such an undisturbed tran- 
quillity as the political mstitution of a people im the 
moment when perhaps they were upon the point of bemg 
subjugated. I did not conceal my fears from Monsieur 
Buttafuoco, who satisfled me by the assurance that, 
were there in the treaty thimgs contrary to the liberty 
of his country, a good citizen like himself would not 
_ remain as he did in the service of France. In fact, his 

zeal for the legislation of the Corsicans, and his close 
connections with Monsieur Paoli, could not leave a doubt 
on my mind respecting him; and when I heard that he 
made frequent journeys to Versailles and Fontainebleau, 
and had conversations with Monsieur de Choiseul, all I 


C 391] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


concluded from the whole was, that with respect to the 
real intentions of France he had assurances which he 
gave me to understand, but concerning which he did not 
choose openly to explain himself by letter. 

This removed a part of my apprehensions. Yet, as I 
could not comprehend the meaning of the transportation 
of troops from France, nor reasonably suppose that they 
were sent to Corsica to protect the liberty of the imhabit- 
ants, which they of themselves were well able to defend 
against the Genoese, [ could neither make myself per- 
fectly easy nor seriously undertake the plan of the pro- 
posed legislation, until I had solid proofs that the whole 
was not a game in which [ was to be made a subject of 
ridicule. I much wished for an interview with Monsieur 
Buttafuoco, as that was certaimly the best means of 
comimg at the explanation [ wished. Of this he gave 
me hopes, and Î waited for it with the greatest im- 
patience. [I know not whether he was really sincere in 
the matter, but, even had this been the case, my mis- 
fortunes would have prevented me from profitmg by it. 

The more I considered the proposed undertakmg, and 
the farther I advanced im the examination of the papers 
Ï had in my hands, the greater I found the necessity of 
studying in the country the people for whom institutions 
were to be made, the soil they mhabited, and all the 
relative circumstances by which it was necessary to 
appropriate to them those institutions. Î[ daily per- 
ceived more clearly the impossibility of acquirimg at a 
distance all the mformation necessary to guide me. This 
Ï wrote to Monsieur Buttafuoco, and he felt it as I did. 
Although I did not decidedly form the resolution of 
gomg to Corsica, Î considered a good deal of the way 
to make that voyage. I spoke to Monsieur Dastier, 
who, having formerly served in the island under Monsieur 
de Maillebois, was necessarily acquainted with it. He 


CL 392] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


used every effort to dissuade me from this imtention, 
and I confess that the frightful description he gave me 
of the Corsicans and their country considerably abated 
the desire I had of going to live amongst them. 

But when the persecutions of Motiers made me think 
_ of quittimg Switzerland this desire was strengthened by 
the hope of at length finding amongst these islanders the 
repose refused me in every other place. One thmg only 
alarmed me, which was my unfitness for the active life 
to which [I was going to be condemned, and the aversion 
J had always had to it. My disposition, proper for 
meditating at leisure and im solitude, was not so for 
speakimg and actmg and treating of affairs with men. 
Nature, which had endowed me with the first talent, 
_ had refused me the last. Yet I felt that, even without 
directly taking active part in public affairs, I should, as 
soon as Î was m Corsica, be under the necessity of yield- 
img to the desires of the people, and of frequently con- 
ferrimg with the chiefs. The object even of the voyage 
required that, mstead of seekmg retirement, I should m 
the heart of the country endeavour to gain the mforma- 
tion of which [ stood in need. Ît was certain that I 
should no longer be master of my own time, and that 
m spite of myself, precipitated imto the vortex im which 
 Ï was not born to move, I should there lead a life con- 
trary to my inclmation, and never appear but to disad- 
vantage. [ foresaw that, 1ll supporting by my presence 
the opinion my books might have given the Corsicans 
of my capacity, [ should lose my reputation amongst 
them, and, as much to their prejudice as my own, be 
deprived of the confidence they had im me, without which, 
however, [I could not successfully fulfil the task they 
expected from me. I was certain that, by thus gomg 
out of my sphere, I should become useless to them, and 
render myself unhappy. 


C 393 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


: Tormented, beaten by storms from every quarter, and 
for several years past fatigued by journeys and persecu- 
tion, I strongly felt a want of the repose of which my 
barbarous enemies wantonly deprived me. Î sighed more 
than ever after that delicious indolence, that soft tran- 
quillity of body and mind, which I had so much desired, 
and to which, now that I had recovered from the chimeras 
of love and friendship, my heart limited its supreme 
felicity. Î viewed with terror the labours I was about 
to undertake, and the tumultuous life imto which I was 
to enter; and, if the grandeur, beauty, and utility of the 
object animated my courage, the impossibility of con- 
quermg so many difhculties entirely deprived me of it. 
Twenty years of profound meditation in solitude would 
have been less painful to me than an active life of six 
months im the midst of men and public affarrs, with a 
certainty of not succeeding in my undertaking. | 

I thought of an expedient which seemed proper to 
obviate every difficulty. Pursued by the underhand 
dealings of my secret persecutors to every place in which 
[ took refuge, and seeing no other except Corsica where 
I could in my old days hope for the repose I had until 
then been everywhere deprived of, I resolved to go there, 
with the directions of Buttafuoco, as soon as this was 
possible, but to live there in tranquillity, renouncing, 
at least openly, everything relative to legislation, and 
— in some measure to make my hosts a return for their 
hospitality — to confine myself to writmg im the country 
the history of the Corsicans, with a reserve im my own 
mind of the intention of secretly acquiring the necessary 
information to enable me to be more useful to them, 
should I see a probability of success. In this manner, 
by not enterimg imto any engagement, [| hoped to be 
enabled to meditate in secret and more at my ease a 
plan which might be useful to their purpose, and this 


C 394 ] 


JÉANEFJACQUES" ROUSSEAU 


without much breakmg in upon my dearly-beloved 
solitude, or submitting to a kind of life which I had ever 
found insupportable, and to which I could not conform. 

But this Journey was not in my situation a thimg so 
easy to perform. According to what Monsieur Dastier 
had told me of Corsica, I could not expect to find there 
the most simple conveniences of life, except such as I 
should take with me; linen, clothes, plate, kitchen 
furniture, paper and books — all had to be conveyed 
thither. To get there myself with my gouvernante I had 
the Alps to cross, and im a journey of two hundred 
leagues to drag after me all my baggage. I had also 
to pass through the States of several Sovereigns, and, 
according to the example set to all Europe, I had, after 
what had befallen me, naturally to expect to find obstacles 
in every quarter, and that each Government would 
think it did itself honour by overwhelming me with some 
new insult, and violatmg in my person all the rights of 
nations and of humanity. Ît was necessary, in con- 
sidering the immense expense, fatigue, and risk of such 
a probably adventurous Journey, to weigh every diffi- 
culty beforehand. The idea of being alone and, at my 
age, without resource, far removed from all my acquaint- 
ance, and at the mercy of this barbarous and ferocious 
people, such as Monsieur Dastier had described them to 
me, was sufficient to make me think over such a resolu- 
tion before putting it into execution. I ardently wished 
for the mterview for which Buttafuoco had given me 
reason to hope, and I waited the result of it to guide me 
in my determimation. 

Whilst I thus hesitated came on the persecutions of 
Motiers, which obliged me to retire. Ï was not prepared 
for a long Journey, especially to Corsica. I expected to 
hear from Buttafuoco. I took refuge in the Ile de Saint- 
Pierre, whence Ï was driven at the beginning of winter, 


L 395 ] 


FHENCONFESSIONSRUE 


as I have already stated. The Alps covered with snow 
then rendered my emigration impracticable, especially 
with the promptitude required from me. It is true the 
extravagance of such an order rendered its execution 
almost impossible, for, in the midst of that concentred 
solitude, surrounded by water, and having but twenty- 
four hours after receiving the order to prepare for my 
departure, and find a boat and carriages to get out of 
the island and the territory, had I had wings I should 
scarcely have been able to pay obedience to it. This I 
wrote to Monsieur le Baïll: de Nidau in answer to his 
letter, and hastened to take my departure from that 
country of miquity. Thus was [I obliged to abandon my 
favourite project, for which reason, not having in my 
oppressed condition been able to prevail upon my perse- 
cutors to dispose of me otherwise, I determined, in conse- 
quence of the mvitation of my Lord Marshal, upon a 
journey to Berlin, leaving Thérèse to pass the winter im 
the Île de Saint-Pierre with my books and effects, and 
depositing my papers in the hands of Du Peyrou. I 
used so much diligence that the next morning I left the 
island, and arrived at Bienne before noon. Here I had 
well-nigh ended my journey, owing to an mcident the 
account of which must not be omitted. 

As soon as the news of my having received an 
order to quit my asylum was circulated I had quite a 
flood of visitors from the neighbourhood, and especially 
Bernese, who came with the most detestable falsity to 
flatter and soothe me, protestimg that my persecutors 
had seized the moment of the vacation of the Senate to 
obtain and serve me with the order, which, said they, 
had excited the mdignation of the Two Hundred. Among 
this group of comforters some came from the city of 
Bienne, a little free State within that of Berne, and 
amongst others a young man of the name of Wildremet, 


C 396 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


whose family was of the first rank, and had the greatest 
credit in that little city. Wildremet strongly solicited 
me in the name of his fellow-citizens to choose my 
retreat amongst them, assurmg me that they were 
anxiousiy desirous of it, and that they would think it 
an honour and a duty to make me forget the persecu- 
tions Ï had suffered; that with them I had nothing to 
fear from the influence of the Bernese; that Bienne was 
a free city, governed by its own laws; and that the citi- 
zens were unanimously resolved not to hearken to any 
 solicitations which should be unfavourable to me. 

Wildremet, seemg that Î was unshaken, brought to 
his aid several other persons, as well from Bienne and 
the environs as from Berne itself, and, amongst others, 
_ the same Kirchbergher of whom I have spoken, who had 
sought me out after my retreat to Switzerland, and by 
his talents and principles had interested me in his favour. 
But I recerved much less expected and more weighty 
solicitations from Monsieur Barthès, secretary to the 
embassy from France, who came with Wildremet to see 
me, exhorted me to accept his mvitation, and surprised 
me by the lively and tender concern he seemed to feel 
for my situation. [ had no knowledge whatever of 
Monsieur Barthès; however, | percerved in what he 
said the warmth and zeal of friendship, and that he had 
it at heart to persuade me to fix my residence at Bienne. 
He made the most pompous eulogrum of the city and its 
inhabitants, with whom he showed himself so intimately 
connected as to call them several times in my presence 
his patrons and fathers. 

This behaviour on the part of Barthès bewildered me 
in my conjectures. Î had always suspected Monsieur 
de Choiseul to be the secret author of all the persecutions 
that I suffered in Switzerland. The conduct of the 
French Resident at Geneva, and that of the Ambassador 


C 397] 


THE :CONFESSTIONSAGE 


at Soleure, but too weli confirmed these suspicions. 
Ï perceived the secret influence of France in everything 
that happened to me at Berne, Geneva, and Neufchâtel, 
and I did not think that I had any powerful enemy in 
France except the Duc de Choiseul.! What, therefore, 
could I think of the visit of Barthès, and the tender 
interest he appeared to take in my welfare? My mis- 
fortunes had not yet destroyed the confidence natural 
to my heart, and I had still to learn from experience how 
to discern snares under caresses. I sought with surprise 
the reason of this benevolence on the part of Barthès. 
Ï was not weak enough to believe that he had acted on 
his own account. There was in his manner something 
ostentatious, an affectation even which declared a con- 
cealed intention; and [I was far from having ever found 
in any of these little subaltern agents that generous 
mtrepidity which, when [I was im a similar employment, 
had often caused a fermentation m my heart. 

I had formerly known something of the Chevalier 
de Beauteville, at the residence of Monsieur de Luxem- 
bourg. He had shown me some marks of esteem; smce 
his appomtment to the embassy he had given me proofs 
of his not having entirely forgotten me, accompanied 
with an mvitation to go and see him at Soleure. Though 
I did not accept this invitation Î was extremely sensible 
of his civility, not having been accustomed to be treated 
with such kinmdness by people im office. I presumed that 
Monsieur de Beauteville, obliged to follow his imstruc- 
tions im whatever related to the affairs of Geneva, yet 
pitying me under my misfortunes, had by his private 
influence obtamed for me the asylum of Bienne, that I 
might live there in peace under his auspices. ÎI was 


1 It is noteworthy that Rousseau ascribes the persecutions of which 
he complains to the Duc de Choiïseul alone, without mention of Voltaire, 
whose name, indeed, does not once occur in this twelfth book. 


C 398 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


properly sensible of his attention, but without wishing 
to profit by it, and, quite determined upon the journey 
to Berlin, I sighed after the moment in which I was to 
see my Lord Marshal, persuaded that I should in future 
fnd real repose and lastmg happiness nowhere but near 
his person. 

On my departure from the island, Kirchbergher 
accompanied me to Bienne. I there found Wildremet 
and other Biennese, who, by the waterside, awaited my 
landing. We all dined together at the inn, and on my 
arrival there my first care was to provide a chaise, being 
determined to set off the next morning. Whilst we were 
at dinner these gentlemen repeated their solicitations to 
prevail upon me to stay with them, and this with such 
warmth and obligmg protestations that, notwithstand- 
ing all my resolutions, my heart, which has never been 
able to resist cordial attentions, yielded to theirs. The 
moment they perceived that I was shaken they redoubled 
their efforts with so much effect that I was at length 
overcome, and consented to remain at Bienne, at least 
until the coming spring. 

Wildremet immediately set about providmg me with 
a lodgimg, and boasted, as of a fortunate discovery, of 
a dirty little chamber in the back of the house, on the 
third story, overlookmg a courtyard, where [ was 
regaled with the display of the stinkimg skins belonging 
to a dresser of chamois leather. My host was a little 
fellow of mean appearance, and a good deal of a rascal, 
who, as I learned next day, was a debauchee, a gamester, 
and in ill credit in the neighbourhood. He had neither 
wife, children, nor servants, and, shut up im my solitary 
chamber, I was, in the midst of one of the most agreeable 
countries in Europe, lodged in a manner likely to make 
me die of melancholy in the course of a few days. What 
affected me most was that, notwithstanding what I had 


C 399 ] 


THE CONFESSIONS OF 


heard of the anxious wish of the inhabitants to receive 
me amongst them, I had not perceived as I passed through 
the streets anything polite towards me in their manners 
or obligmg m their looks. I[ was, however, fully deter- 
mined to remain there; but I learned, saw, and felt the 
very next day that there was in the city a terrible fer- 
mentation, of which [ was the cause. Several persons 
hastened obligingly to mform me that on the next day 
Î was to receive an order, conceived in the most severe 
terms, immediately to quit the State — that is, the city. 
T had nobody in whom I could confide. They who had 
detained me were dispersed. Wildremet had disappeared; 
J heard no more of Barthès, and it did not appear that 
his recommendation had brought me into great favour 
with those whom he had styled his patrons and fathers. 
One Monsieur de Vau-Travers, a Bernese, who had an 
agreeable house not far from the city, offered it me for 
my asylum, hoping, as he said, that I might there avoid 
bemg stoned. The advantage this offer held out was not 
sufficiently flatterimg to tempt me to prolong my abode 
with these hospitable people. 

Meanwhile, having lost three days by this delay, I 
had greatly exceeded the twenty-four hours the Bernese 
had given me to quit their States, and, knowing their 
severity, Î was not without apprehensions as to the 
manner in which they would suffer me to cross them, 
when Monsieur le Baïll! de Nidau came opportunely 
and relieved me from my embarrassment. As he had 
highly disapproved of the violent proceedings of their 
Excellencies, he thought, im his generosity, that he owed 
me some public proof of his having taken no part m them, 
and had courage enough to leave his baïlliage to come 
and pay me a visit at Bienne. He came on the evening 
before my departure, and, far from coming incognito, 
he affected ceremony, coming in fiocchi im his coach with 


L 400 ] 


JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


his secretary, and brought me a passport in his own 
name, that I might cross the State of Berne at my ease 
and without fear of molestation. I was more flattered 
by the visit than by the passport, and should have been 
as sensible of the merit of it had it had for object any 
other person. Nothing makes a greater impression upon 
my heart than a well-timed act of courage in favour of 
the weak unjustly oppressed. 

At length, after having with difficulty procured a 
chaise, Î next morning left this homicidal country, before 
the arrival of the deputation with which I was to be 
honoured, and even before I could see Thérèse, to whom 
Ï had written to come to me when I had thought I 
should remain at Bienne, and whom I had scarcely time 
to countermand by a short letter imformimg her of my 
new disaster. In the third part of my Memours, if ever 
I be able to write them, will be seen in what manner, 
thmkmg to set off for Berlin, I really took my departure 
for England, and the means by which the two ladies who 
wished to dispose of me, after having by their mtrigues 
driven me from Switzerland, where [I was not sufficiently 
nm their power, at last delivered me mto the hands of 
their friend. 

I added what follows on reading this manuscript to 
Monsieur and Madame [a Comtesse d’Egmont, Mon- 
sieur le Prince Pignatelli, Madame la Marquise de Mesme, 
and Monsieur le Marquis de Juigné. 

J have told the truth: if any person has heard of 
things contrary to those I have just stated, were they 
a thousand times proved, he has heard calumny and 
falsehood, and, if he refuses thoroughly to examine and 
see what light I[ can cast on them whilst I am alive, he 
is not a friend either to justice or truth. For my part, 
I openly and fearlessly declare that whoever, even with- 
out having read my works, shall examine with his own 


C 401 ] 


CONFESSIONS OF JEAN-JACQUES ROUSSEAU 


eyes my disposition, character, manners, inclinations, 
pleasures, and habits, and pronounce me a dishonest 
man, is himself one who deserves a gibbet. 

Thus I concluded my reading, and every person was 
silent. Madame d’Egmont was the only person who 
seemed affected: she trembled visibly, but soon re- 
covered herself, and was silent like the rest of the com- 
pany. Such were the fruits of this reading and of my 
declaration.! 

1 The above incident occurred in 1770, when the author, on several 
occasions, read the manuscript of his Confessions at gatherings of chosen 
auditors. These readings were discontinued,upon a request for prohibi- 
tion addressed to the police by Madame d’Epinay, who declared that ‘her 
peace of mind was affected” by the partial publicity thus given to the 
work. Some years before his death Rousseau wrote a duplicate copy 


of his life-history, in which he made a few corrections and additions of 
small importance. 


C402] 


THE BORZOI CLASSICS 


uniform witb this volume 


NANA by Emice ZoLA 


Translated from the French 
With an Introduction by BURTON RASCOE 


MANON LESCAUT by THE ABBÉ PREVOST 


Translated from the French 
With an Introduction by BURTON RASCOE 


MADAME BOVARY by GUSTAVE FLAUBERT 


Translated from the French by ELEANOR MARX-AVELING 
With an Introduction by BURTON RASCOE 


MELLE. DE MAUPIN by THÉoOPHILE GAUTIER 


Translated from the French 
With an Introduction by BURTON RASCOE 


GERMINIE LACERTEUX by EpMonDp AND JULES 


DE GONCOURT 
Translated from the French 
With an Introduction by ERNEST BOYD 


THE CONFESSIONS of JEAN-JaAcQuEs RoussEAU 


Translated from the French. (In two volumes) 
With an Introduction by LUDWIG LEWISOHN 


MOLL FLANDERS by Daniez DEFOE 


With an Introduction by CARL VAN DOREN 


COther volumes will be added to this series each year]. 


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